A.N. Now I've done it. I'll have to keep writing so I don't disappoint the select group that have followed or favorited my tale! Particular thanks to BeecroftA, JustNibblin, HawkTooth, and Old Goat for their kind chapter reviews; I'll go soak my head to bring the swelling down.

Some new principle characters join our cast, and we explore the ramifications of the police report, and some mammalian pre-history.

More personally— life has gotten complicated lately and my update rate will likely suffer. I'll try for every other week. Thanks for your patience!

Tinbuzzard11

Chapter Four:

Let the Fur Fly!

Jack Savage liked to fly—although he still had to do it as a passenger. Hints to the director about the desirability of a pilot's license added to his qualifications hadn't yet taken wing. Even cooler would be a rotorcraft rating to go along with the fixed-wing one. Oh well, he thought; it's a stingy government and aviation had always been a pred heavy profession.

The JetStream 2 had started its descent some fifteen minutes ago and they'd already halved their altitude. The forward cabin bulkhead hid the Ocelot pilot, but the Serval co-pilot was visible through the access, so Jack could watch him and listen to their conversations. He had a good seat in the second row, well ahead of the swept wing for an unobstructed view. It wasn't luck, or planning; as only five of the nineteen seats on this hastily arranged government charter had a passenger.

Across from him sat a thin, dignified goat from the Bureau of Natural Resources. Two seats further back, Skye concentrated on her laptop, and on the bench seat aft a smallish black bear and a pronghorn slouched to maintain headroom. The antelope was from the OMB directorate, and his sour bean-counter expression had deepened due to his posture and the required yellow tip protectors on his horns. Tough; that's the price you paid if you wanted to reduce the trip to Zootopia from all day to a couple of hours.

Jack leaned closer to the window and was able to see parts of the coast range ahead. He caught a strong coppery reflection to the right of the only snow-covered mountain visible; also tinted orange by the just risen sun. The jet banked into a shallow right turn that first revealed the shadow accented undulations of the Meadowlands, and then the runways of ZAT. They flew a long base leg approach and the air got choppy as they continued to descend. It's way too early for thermal turbulence, Jack thought, so it was likely from a frontal passage.

A glance around the cabin showed that—as he expected—Skye's laptop had disappeared and she was also muzzle to her window. The other three only perked up when the co-pilot announced their imminent landing. There were a few intermittent whines and soft clunks from behind as first flaps, then gear deployed. After a left turn to final, the feline crew pulled off a good smooth touchdown.

They didn't bother with thrust reversers and let the JetStream roll out, took the high-speed off the runway, and were able to coast most of the way to the government portion of the ramp by the terminal. There appeared to be no other activity on the field, and Jack wondered if the terminal was even open.

He was out of his seat, carry on case in paw, by the time the crew had the airstair open. A quick compliment on their landing and he was outside waiting to retrieve his larger case from the baggage bay. As the others started to exit, a government limo drove up, turned and backed into position near the airstair. The driver, a large spotted hyena, came around to open the rear door and usher the aloof pronghorn inside. The well-stuffed chauffeur's uniform then came over to select a bag from the few the bear had already helped the Serval unload.

"Is the First Deputy on his way to city hall perchance?" asked the goat. He got a grudging nod in response. "Good, I believe we three also need to be in Savanna Central." Skye and Jack received a polite wave.

"No tag-alongs, First Deputy's use only," the driver said firmly and turned away. He managed a step before a slender arctic fox intervened and caught his eye with a smile.

That was Skye's 'I've got this' smile, so Jack relaxed to watch the show. There was an annoyed bleat from the car that prompted the hyena to sidestep the fox—not even a third of his size—who gracefully managed to thwart him again.

"I believe the Deputy has failed to recall his own office's regulation about the cooperative use of federal resources. I'm sure he wouldn't want such a...voluminous requisition to go to waste," Skye said sweetly—which got the desired glower from the driver, and another demand from the car.

Skye waited until the pronghorn stuck his head out the door in outrage before she produced her ZBI badgeholder and did the agent flip. Once it was recognized, she replaced it to produce her pocket camera and caught the shocked expression, car and government plate. "I think that's all I need now for your 'Misuse of Resources' form. Please remind me; was it First Deputy Springer, or Sprinter?"

They got a hearty wave goodbye from the black bear as they pulled away and around the quiet terminal. The limo was a little more convenient than the light rail would have been; but oh so much more satisfying! Jack spotted another, larger jet on approach as they joined the airport loop road. Even at a distance, he could read ZHL CARGO as it settled towards the runway. It was early Saturday morning; maybe there just wasn't much scheduled activity yet.

The goat from Natural Resources was a Mr. Dabih; he'd slipped his own shiv into the fuming Deputy up front by returning the tip protectors he'd found on the floor of the plane. With the reduced headroom there, the pronghorn needed them again. There was plenty of room in the back for the three of them—Skye and Mr. Dabih spoke inconsequentially, and Jack made use of the minibar just because he could.

Of course they wouldn't bother to actually file the complaint on First Deputy Sphincter, just add the info to his folder. Puncturing the arrogant usually dispersed much joy among those within the blast radius, and the uncertainty and humiliation should keep him in check for awhile. Jack Savage relaxed, his long ears flopped back against the seat, and waited for the towers of downtown to appear as the road slowly dipped and rose.

Hotel check-in completed, Jack walked towards the megalithic architecture of ZPD's precinct one and paused to check his received text notification. He hummed to himself; the number when read in reverse showed that Skye's room was only two doors away on his floor. They both loved their little 'International Mammal of Mystery' games.

The activity level inside the precinct matched the final scurry to work of the crowd outside. There was even a frightened young guanaco being perp-walked to a holding cell between a wolf and bear. There was a bit of still wet red paint on the gangly bovid's cuffed hoof, so maybe it was one of those scare-em-straight programs.

Reception seemed to have an overinflated cheetah balloon stuffed behind the counter. The portly feline licked at his fingers, and only needed a transfer to some small-town police department to become the perfect cop stereotype. Jack looked up and showed his ID once he was noticed.

"Oh goodness! I guess we didn't get the first bunny cop after all!" The bubbly cheetah had a voice to match.

"First, it's special agent Savage; ZBI—not a cop. Second, I. Am. A. Hare, officer..."—a large paw helpfully pushed the nameplate holder on the counter closer—"Clawhauser."

"Well, welcome to the ZPD, your right on time. Chief Bogo's waiting for you, fourth floor. Elevator's just over there; then second door on your right."

Jack turned away, only slightly miffed at the cheetah—it was that automatic look he usually got from predators that said, "how did you get a name like Savage?"

Skye was already waiting outside the chief's office, idly buffing a claw. She'd probably exercised her sneaky fox talents, as the cheetah hadn't mentioned her prior arrival. As usual, she was perfectly groomed and looked to him—well it's trite, but quite foxy—although he'd refrain from any comment right now. It was that season, her summer coat had just started to come in and she looked like she'd been out digging a den. The vixen was fine with either seasonal coat, but not during the transitions when she looked patchy for a couple of weeks.

Bogo's domain befitted the hulking Cape Buffalo behind his desk. He obviously preferred to hold court in here, and had done his homework as four seats for mid-sized mammals were lined up before it. They were highback barstools presumably borrowed from somewhere, as a much larger seat had been pushed to one side. Skye sat at the far end and he took the one next to her. They presented their credentials and Bogo barely glanced at them.

"Agents Winter; Savage; I appreciate your prompt response although even that concerns me. This matter is outside our normal scope, but its potential to foment public unrest demands that we try to root this all out before it is disseminated." The imposing police chief slowly appeared less so as he passed them each a several page printout. "I sent you excerpts, this is the full report I received. It shows this is far more complex than the usual pred-prey issue; any suggestions on how to proceed would be welcome."

"Your concern is quite understandable," Jack finally said after an uncomfortable twenty-minute read. "This is the type of issue that engages us far more than the public is aware of."

Or that you were chief. The ZBI had contacted and assisted the ZPD during the savage predator crisis, but that was only the visible part of the iceberg. Reports on chief Bogo's leadership had been favorable; Jack felt he'd be a good asset to the team.

"Chief Bogo," Skye filled the silence. "To the citizenry at large, the ZBI is one of the most noteworthy examples of a bloated government agency. Our size and budget are at odds with what most feel is needed in a civilized society, because most of our efforts must necessarily go unappreciated." She deferred back to him with a fetching little whisker twitch.

"Our enforcement responsibilities necessarily overlap, but we concentrate on the larger-scale threats to society; corruption, conspiracies, species supremacists, and carnivore cults—some best kept out of the public conscious as much as possible. Frankly, the bureau never anticipated an issue with this wide a potential affect on society. We are indebted to you and your officer Wilde for recognizing how sensitive this might be. I assume," Jack waved at the empty seats, "that he will be one to join us?"

"Wilde!" Bogo barked at the door just as it opened. A crisply uniformed red fox limped in on a crutch to Jack's surprise, nodded to the chief, and took the adjacent seat. Judy Hopps followed the fox and took the last—with a paw up from Wilde. Both examined him with interest until Skye broke their concentration with her best upper crust, miffed sniff.

Chief Bogo took that as his cue to introduce everyone; Jack noticed that his gaze roved up and down the line—lapine, vulpine, lapine, vulpine—and where it repeatedly lingered. Hopps was well known of course, but Wilde seemed equally notorious in the chief's eyes. His and Skye's presence seemed to reinforce whatever that was.

"Hopps, Wilde, this investigation has taken on a life of its own, and as you see, has quickly attracted federal interest," Bogo continued. "Therefore you will consign any notes you may have to agents Winter and Savage, brief them, and facilitate their introduction to the museum staff. They will be responsible for this matter henceforth, and you will resume..."

"No!" Jack and Skye spoke as one to everyone else's surprise. She'd seen something too, Jack noted amid an awkward silence.

"I...we will need their assistance chief," Jack said, as he and Skye exchanged meaningful glances, which Bogo also noticed. "We need to move rapidly on this with all of the informed staff we have; you included." A few minutes had sufficed for him to notice enough subtle interplay between the rabbit and fox officers that they might confide in each other.

"Do these officers have your full trust?" Jack asked bluntly. Hopps eyes widened; Wilde didn't react.

"Yes, they do. They have rapidly taken on increased responsibilities although they are both still rookies. You will find them competent, but rough around the edges," the chief said as he scrutinized Wilde, "and rather impulsive," as he shifted his gaze to Hopps.

"Good," said Jack, "better than being stuck with a couple of Ranger Scouts."

"Thanks Mr. Ravage!" The tween prairie dog clutched his notebook—undoubtedly the autograph and personalized note would end up framed in his room—and rejoined the gaggle of his class. His teacher, having obtained her own from officer Hopps, formed them up again and herded them towards the museum.

"Ravage?" asked a clueless Judy Hopps.

"I used to be a MMMA competitor," Jack said to more bunny incomprehension. "That's mammalian mixed martial arts. Fairly well-known for a couple of years on the circuit."

Pleased that someone so young had remembered him, Jack was even more satisfied that a whole group of little rumor-spreaders had seen him in the company of Judy Hopps. He needed to encourage more of that.

Jack accompanied her the rest of the way across the square—and collected a few more pairs of eyes before they entered city hall. Cops and government personnel going there was routine—however, their repeatedly visiting the museum might attract the attention of some curious busybody.

He waited for a minute after Hopps had left from the side exit, then followed her over to the museum. Quite the tableaux awaited him when he stepped through the inconspicuous rear door left unlocked for them.

Three different species of female surrounded a stiffly uncomfortable fox officer—except for his tail, which hung limply down. The other three emotional flags were raised and gave off a few asynchronous twitches as...

"What other vixen," said Hopps.

"That was unprofessional of me," said the skunk in a lab coat.

"I thought it was a tease," said Skye. "My apologies to you both, I didn't know."

"My fault entirl —it meant nothi—I embarrassed her the other—we aren't!" Wilde and the skunk verbally stumbled over each other as her tail drooped too. Hopps looked ready to foot thump.

Jack's contribution to the discussion was an open mouth. There had to be something between the rabbit and fox officers, had she just realized he was seeing... No, that was absurd even by daytime drama standards.

"We just had an awkward moment the other day," the skunk said once she'd regained her composure. "And I wanted to make up with hi...I didn't mean that! I meant I just chose the wrong way to say no hard feelings and it escalated. Thought it would be good to lighten the mood before we all got into it." Officer Wilde added a couple quick nods of assent.

"I think we already did," Skye said. "We'll need to salvage this one over a few beers."

"Granted," Jack said. "But it's past time for us to meet doctor Soren." The skunk's resigned sigh showed him he'd share the tab for those beers, and Skye's frown of disapproval promised some delayed retribution for his sexism.

"Sorry doctor, my bad," Jack admitted reluctantly. He'd uncharacteristically missed the name embroidered on her smock. Two pensive males wisely brought up the rear as Dr. Soren's tail sashayed them deeper into the museum archives.

"This is Doctor Ryan Alder," said Dr. Soren as they filed into a combination lab and office. A stout raccoon seated behind a desk near the back wall dipped his muzzle to them. A brown tweed coat, narrow rimmed glasses, and a fair amount of gray fur that softened his facial mask were ideal camouflage for the museum environment. "He holds the Wallace Chair of Evolutionary Biology at ZU in addition to being our head of research here."

"Thank you for your appearance; please be seated. I would have preferred to welcome you under better circumstances." Dr. Alder paused, as the arc of mismatched chairs in front of his desk had become an issue. There were some mutual glances and hesitation before Skye and Wilde sat on the ends and Hopps took the center seat. Jack decided it was best to sit between her and Skye. Dr. Soren stood, and left the seat next to Wilde empty.

"Well, I'm sure Doctor Barret our sociologist would have enjoyed this interaction, but he is conducting a graduate seminar today," Dr. Alder said. "We can join him tomorrow if you still need help sorting out your social status." He raised a paw to cut off the embarrassed responses before Jack caught his eye and finished the introductions.

"Officers, reality happens," Dr. Alder resumed. "Doctor Soren, myself, and a few others have already had to face this and work through our own doubts and denials. You've all read her reports? Excellent, then I know how concerned you must feel about this too.

"To put your primary question to rest; we have solid evidence that there are two species of non-sentient, solely quadrupedal mammals alive today, and are confident there's a third."

"Dr. Soren's report wasn't that conclusive!" Hopps objected with a pointed look at its author. "She said there were just a few partial fossil remains...kept using words like possible, probable, or indications of!"

"She, at my direction, was...circumspect with her initial reports. Now you can see why, and share our astonishment." Dr. Alder gave his skunk colleague a key; she went over to a large chest of drawers and unlocked it. She carefully lifted a wide metal case out of the bottom one, and shook Wilde back to his seat with her head.

"It's not that heavy, just awkward—but thanks," said Dr. Soren as she waddled over to set it on Alder's desk. She quickly reached over and drew a finger down Wilde's forearm before he could react; and examined the reddish hairs she'd collected. "It's April, so you foxes need labcoats and bonnets, cabinet outside the door to the left."

"I groom daily," Skye said with a hint of frost.

"You're still a longhair. We don't want anyone to shed on the specimens, we need to get these genetically tested; they're fragile, cleaning can damage them." Soren then released the latches around the middle of the case; then cracked the top half loose before wriggling her paws into a pair of latex gloves.

Wilde came back in a coat that said 'Visitor'. Skye's frown topped a somewhat baggy one around her that said 'Dr. K. Soren'. Both fussed with the elastic bands of gauzy covers around their ears and scalps. Skye had another for the skunk, who nodded her thanks.

"Last thing," Soren said, "anyone who wants to look closely, pat down your exposed facial fur with this tack cloth." She pulled one from a dispenser on the wall, used it, and then showed them how much black fur it had gathered. Once finished with theirs, both foxes shared a look of dismay at the results of their efforts.

They crowded around the desk, and Dr. Soren removed the top of the case after making sure no one leaned over it. Jack's stomach went sour as the skeleton of a hare was revealed. Still partially articulated, it was arranged on a very smooth white cloth that lined the case. Its muzzle was somewhat elongated, and one hind leg was missing; but he still recognized his own. A small gasp next to him automatically drew his paw protectively onto Hopps' shoulder. His rather distant cousin didn't object.

"This is our best, most recent specimen. We wanted you to see the actual remains, not casts or images. Officer Hopps, Savage; despite appearances this is not a Lagomorph. Are you familiar with a Mara?"

Jack knew this. "That's an Amazonian false hare!" he told Soren as she nodded approvingly.

"More likely a relative, but still a Caviomorph, like Agoutis and the Capybara. Those are all fully within the Rodentia—that's why we'd like the genetic testing to firmly place it. Modern Maras aren't too common up here, but this is evolutionarily far more primitive. Note the longer, narrower skull—this animal's braincase volume is well under half of yours although you are nearly the same size."

"You said 'recent' and 'remains' again, Dr. Soren," officer Wilde noted. "How old is this mamm... animal?"

"In evolutionary terms, it is similar to the two described Mara ancestral fossils from six million years ago," she said carefully. "Those are probably close to the MRCA, and all were quadrupedal based on their pelvic structure—which also shows that this individual was male. From radiocarbon of extracted collagen, he met his end no more than two hundred years ago. That's a limit, the technique isn't well suited for such a short interval."

"I think we've impressed our officers enough, Kristen," Dr. Alder admonished gently. "I'd like to give them some basic background."

"This institution's vast collection unfortunately gives visitors the false impression that there is an extensive fossil record for most species. The reality is; there are fossils for around five to ten percent of living species, and no more than one percent of all the species estimated to have existed. We're very fortunate we have anything to compare to this.

"True fossils are older than 10,000 years and have undergone significant or complete replacement mineralization; subfossils like Wesley here," Alder waved at the skeleton, "are younger, unmineralized and can be radiocarbon dated. With proper calibr..."

"You named him?" Jack quickly seized the unexpected gift to hopefully push the paleontologist back on track. Soren looked properly chagrined; but her superior plowed on.

"It's a mannerism, but yes," admitted Dr. Alder; "we sometimes name the important ones. Look closely, he has more to tell you."

Hopps spotted it first. "His skull isn't attached, and that groove at the very back of it doesn't look right."

"The first vertebra also has a depressed fracture...here," Dr. Soren said, indicating the spot with a thin metal pointer. "Ears back!" she warned as Jack leaned in for a closer look.

The others looked in turn, his beloved Skye with her usual unabashed morbid curiosity. Fortunately, they were too interested in Wesley to notice her...parted jaw enthusiasm.

"Blunt force trauma," she breathed, "expertly placed."

"The university lab found traces of iron oxide in striations within the groove here. Most likely he was killed by a blow from a flat faced rod or hammer," Soren concluded.

"We have our victim, Ca...everyone!" Wilde started to turn his attention to his partner, then quickly shifted it back to the remains.

"Do we? I don't think the law covers this—can you murder an animal?" Skye asked.

"I'd still like to know where and when, if you can," Wilde said. "Might be relevant."

"Yes officer, it is; that's the part we decided to leave out of the report. Have you heard of the Catamount ski area? You two certainly must have, you're feds."

"Major new resort to open next fall," Jack took over from Soren. "About forty miles west of the Federal Center up Cold Spring Canyon," he said for the benefit of the ZPD officers. "And?" He looked back at the skunk.

"Last summer they were extending the road up the canyon and discovered a small crudely sealed cave. Luckily, one of the foremammals took it for an archeological site and called the National Museum. We were called in after their initial examination found no cultural artifacts and assumed he was a fossil Jackrabbit eroding out. The NM tends to concentrate on recent mammalian history and leave the fossils to us. They blew it; didn't know what they had."

"Our team took a month for a thorough excavation due to the inconsistencies of the site," added Alder as he pulled up a photo of a rocky slope on his monitor. Here's the entrance after the rubble was cleared." Another photo appeared. "These sheltered spots at the back of the cave showed several layers of soil and ash, while most of the rest of the floor—about thirty square meters—was thoroughly intermingled and..."

"We're not here to evaluate your research," said Jack, "just your findings...please!" Alder frowned, Soren looked miffed—maybe they didn't get an outside audience too often.

"This is important and we're trying to be thorough!" The skunk got somewhat testy. "Alright, we found thirty-three mostly intact bones with various degrees of burn damage, and thousands of small badly burnt fragments mixed with the ash. We're fairly certain the majority are from his species—and all are no more than two centuries old. There was also a partially blocked but sooted..."

"Dr. Soren!" Jack snapped back. "I need a brief summation so we can define our problem here and get started! We'll take the details when we need them."

She gave a strong twitch of her tail, and willingly locked eyes with him. Skye eased back and sat—followed in her de-escalation by Hopps and Wilde. Jack was forced to break the staredown and join them—irked that he'd yielded to the young scientist.

Dr. Alder calmly turned his screen off and turned to Dr. Soren. "Please provide our impaigent with just the abstract for now." Wilde audibly groaned; Jack wanted to.

"Yes doctor. We have a site with the remains of dozens of non-sentient animals not indigenous to the area." Soren thumped a paw on Alder's desk. "They appear—based partly on the one intact specimen—to have been killed and consumed over a long period." Thump. "Efforts were made to periodically burn and bury the evidence of this." Thump. "The closest town to this secluded site was a community of predators, mostly Cougars and Ocelots."

"Thank you Dr. Soren." Alder waved her to the empty seat between the ZPD officers; she only took it when Hopps acquiesced and also beckoned her over. Wilde's eyes stayed away from the skunk as she sat. Jack had to admire the raccoon's expertise in keeping the peace—even with him.

"Now," Dr. Alder resumed, "we scientists have a general rule that proves quite useful in most cases. We call it 'Flockham's Shears'—we use them to cut the tangle of possibilities down to the bare truth—the simplest explanation that works. Therefore, the incredible evidence before us won't require incredible explanations. So what can we conclude from all of this? Anyone?"

"Predator cult that didn't want to be discovered by their neighbors—nothing new about that," Jack said. "Except this was back around the time that preds were trying to be accepted into most cities, wasn't it?"

"Our hare notices a most relevant fact." Dr. Alder dipped his muzzle to him. "Their move into the cities started around three hundred years ago at the end of the Great Predatory Food Crisis, when their populations were at a historic minimum. Due to that, we see evidence of genetic bottlenecking in several feline species today."

"I've never heard of anything like that!" blurted Hopps. Wilde's expression concurred.

"So they still keep that one out of the schools," said Alder with some resignation. "Well, I have to admit the stories told by our exhibits upstairs are also somewhat—sanitized. It pains me to have to give you an abbreviated version of our real history, but I suppose I must."

"Imagine if you will our world, a hundred thousand or more years ago. There were far more species then than we have today, including many we refer to as megafauna—immense, wonderful, primitive mammals long vanished." Dr. Alder steadily became more animated.

"But fundamental changes had come; many other mammals had already developed intelligence and some manipulative abilities. Predators led the way with their prior hunting adaptations like binocular vision, and ability to plan and coordinate with others. Once tool use and language were established, they had an even greater competitive advantage.

"Many prey species that survive today adapted fast enough to withstand the onslaught of advanced predators, and forced that threat onto those that didn't. The megafauna, easily found, resource rich, and evolutionarily disadvantaged by overspecialization and slow reproduction, were driven extinct within perhaps ten thousand years.

"Predation then proportionately shifted to smaller exploitable species where many became extinct in turn. As food sources waned, there likely were unstable population swings among obligate predators and their less optimal prey, until..."

"Until predators learned to grow their food—to farm," Wilde said wonderingly.

"And the clever red fox on the left sees their way to survival!" the raccoon exclaimed.

Jack was embarrassed that, like the others, he watched Hopps' bemused expression until the rabbit's face crumpled and her ears fell.

"And those larger obligate carnivores managed those primitive species they raised in territories kept isolated from the expanding towns and agricultural lands of advanced prey mammals. Two very different cultures co-existed uneasily for thousands of years until the less numerous carnivores slowly ran into sustainability issues," continued Alder.

"We don't know if it was mismanagement of their herds, disease, or conflicts with the growing number of cooperative ex-prey species. There were certainly many other factors in play, such as the much smaller size of typical predator communities.

"The end result was that the total population of predatory species steadily declined over centuries as the availability of suitable meat dwindled. By the time the larger prey cities accepted their remnant populations, they were in a critical state and dependant on them to help further develop their small-scale fishing and arthroculture industries." Dr. Alder finally paused to let them absorb it all.

"Now, with the exception of our two lagomorphs, we are all mid-sized omnivores. Over time, we too had previous small mammalian prey species become unavailable to us, but we had always been able to meet much, and now all, of our protein needs by consuming lower animals like amphibians, fish, and insects. As such, we were more tolerated, and were integrated with wider mammalian society much earlier. Without our documented advocacy at the time, many of today's surviving large predators would be gone.

"There's a lot about early pred history that we will never know about. Contemporary predator records were nearly all disposed of before they integrated with the rest of mammalkind. Even many supposedly cooperative prey species have convenient blanks in their histories which likely hide unpleasantness between them. The more we learn about the past, the more we realize that covering it up is what holds together the present. That is no longer possible." Alder looked at them in turn, awaiting comments.

"It's not just this specimen is it? You mentioned two living primitive animals; you're afraid they will be found," Skye said.

Dr. Soren nodded, sealed up Wesley and returned him to his drawer. She brought back a stack of two smaller cases and opened them side by side on the desk. They gathered round— the first had a somewhat smaller but complete skeleton with a few broken ribs and a detached arm. The second had a leathery, wrinkled, and partially furred pelt—and a slight but undeniable stench of decay. At least to him—both foxes looked disgusted.

"Coypu. Found by an amateur prospector in a streambed between Deerbrooke and Clear Lake nine weeks ago, been dead less than six months. Seems to have washed down from higher in the foothills. We only have modern Coypu for comparison, but it doesn't matter, it's as primitive as our Mara. This is our real problem and what generated our report."

The two paleontologists exchanged glances and Dr. Alder took over again.

"There are large numbers of these Coypu remnants—broken, burnt, cutmarked—found with others in middens at old predator habitation sites throughout Amazonia and here. This is no secret; everyone knows they didn't live on roots and berries all those centuries. We've just always obscured what's really in those middens and their ages. That, however, has unfortunately started to show up in the published literature.

"To the occasionally curious and revolted public, they're the remains of poor generic prey mammals caught and consumed by the nasty predators of the distant past. They do not know that these are the remains of farmed primitive animals from a more recent past. Or that some of them still live.

"What we don't know is if this animal—no we haven't named it yet agent Savage—is a member of an established population in the wild, or an isolated individual. Either way, we have a severe problem."

"Established population," mused Skye, "means there's a good chance more will be found, and your profession will have to explain them. If it's alone..."

"It was raised somewhere, and there are still clandestine meat suppliers," finished Jack.

"Oh sweet cheese and crackers," said Hopps. At least two other voices chuckled at her bunnyism.

"On that note," said Dr. Soren waving her tail; "it's almost noon. If everyone's sufficiently nauseated; how about lunch?"

"Here's another; did you know that hares are the only mammals with kinetic skulls?"

"You're good doc, very few non-hares know about that," Jack admitted. Curious looks demanded an explanation. "We have a slightly flexible joint between the front and back of our skulls that absorbs heavy shock. Quite useful in MMMA competition."

"So that's why you didn't get knocked stupid...er," Skye told him. "Ravage here used it as cover for his first few years in the ZBI."

"I've started to see why you're so fascinated by your work doctor Alder," Judy said, "it's a lot like solving cases." She scraped together a last forkful from her salad bowl.

"Really cold ones," Jack said. Speaking of, don't we owe each other a few?"

"I believe we do agent Savage," Skye said, "Kristen here would enjoy cracking her's open over your head." Dr. Alder almost missed his pocketed ring tone due to the laughter.

"My day was booked, what does the Planning Commission want with me? Alright two-o-clock, I'll be there." He punished his phone for its transgression, dropped a twenty on the table, and stood.

"Seems like we're done for the afternoon, how about nine tomorrow in the University's History and Sociology staff lounge; it's nicer than our department's." The raccoon paleontologist's ringed tail waved farewell as he waddled for the exit.

Alright gentlemammals, what beers do we need to have in our paws?" Soren said. "Or are all of you on-duty?"

"I suppose we could, Nick and I are technically both on administrative leave. Just don't let the chief know."

"Shouldn't matter Hopps," Jack said, "he seems like the type that pops one occasionally. Also, we need to blend in with our contacts."

"Just not on the clock," Wilde noted. "He'd skin our hides and run them up the pole. Growlch will do."

"I'm rather partial to VB, said Skye, earning a quizzical look from the paleontologist. "That's Vixy's Bitter; it's imported."

"Oooh!" snarked Nick. "Miss high latitude is high maintenance!"

"Believe it reynard," was Skye's wintry confirmation. Jack struggled to outwardly maintain passive disinterest.

"Who's buying?" asked Nick. Three feminine paws singled him out. "Hey!"

NOTES:

The world of Zootopia has no advanced primates, therefore its evolution, history, and technical and social development will be quite different. (Commercial puns notwithstanding) I have thus sited the Federal district (Administrative/political center of the continent) near our Denver, Colorado. That puts it close to grassland, riverine, forest, and mountain environments in a convenient location.

MRCA: Most Recent Common Ancestor. The point where a species undergoes a long-term population separation; each group then slowly diverges from the other and evolves into two related species. Essentially, that's the base of every twig or branch on the tree of life.

Genetic bottleneck: When a species is so reduced in numbers that it loses most of its genetic diversity, but does not go extinct. Modern Cheetah's are a prime example; speculation is that at one time the species may have been reduced to a single successfully reproducing female before rebounding. Humans are also genetically somewhat homogenous; we may have passed through a wider bottleneck some 70,000 years ago.

Flockham's Shears = Occam's Razor (My bad; I couldn't resist)

Megafauna: Exterminated in our world by early Humans. (Mostly in N. America and AustralAsia, large African mammals had co-evolved with hominids.) In the Zootopian world; I'll blame it on the preds.

MMMA = Mammalian Mixed Martial Arts (Cribbed from eng050599 and his excellent story Lost Causes and Broken Dreams)