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The Fire Triangle

Part Two:

Oxidizer

Chapter 2—Finding Conor
(Continued…Part 3)

Making certain to stay in the shadows, the young fox moved silently along the covered walkway adjoining Ainsley Hall. A minute later, he reached a juncture where the route branched off in two directions. To the right was the pathway leading to the Hoofington Library and beyond that, his goal.

To the left was the path leading into a large, grassy enclosure known as The Quadrangle. There, at a roundabout in the middle of the courtyard, the walkway merged with another one. Planted firmly in the center of that concrete circle, was his first stop.

It wasn't necessary for him to have made this detour. As a matter of fact, this whole stinking expedition shouldn't be necessary—except for one thing. Some whiles previously, he had set one of his browser apps to alert him to any news relating to the Zootopia Academy of the Performing Arts.

And two days ago, it had delivered a corker. Owing to a promised spate of nice weather, the school would be moving the musical auditions from the Lionheart Auditorium to the Gazelle Amphitheatre. When Conor had learned of the change, he let out a scream that made the walls rattle…and then kicked and punched his hard bag until he was barely able to stand. Three scouting trips and a whole month of planning—right down the drain! He'd have to sneak back on campus and work out a plan all over again.

And so, here he was—but first thing's first.

Checking his smart watch, he noted that it was ten after midnight; more than enough time to accomplish his mission, even with this little side-trip. Outside in The Quadrangle, the grass was soaked and the walkways were covered by a thin sheen of water; it had rained hard earlier in the day, and while the downpour had long since ended, the cloud-cover still remained. That, combined with a new moon had made the decision to move tonight a no-brainer. Still, he wished he had more time; the musical auditions were scheduled for this coming Saturday. Agggggh, grrrr, he would have sold a kidney for just one more week to prepare.

"It is what it is," the young fox muttered to himself, shrugging off his backpack and extracting the laptop Kieran had given him. Dropping into a hunkering crouch, he opened it and called up the ZAPA security cameras. Hmmm, a total of two were positioned overlooking The Quad. The first camera would be of little or no consequence; it was trained on the walkway leading to the parking lot. The second one, however…ahhh, that could be a problem. It had a wide-angle lens and was aimed almost directly at the sculpture. For a moment, Conor considered skipping the detour and heading straight for the Gazelle Amphitheater; he could manage that without having to worry about any CCTV cameras. It took him all of two seconds to reject that notion and type a quick set of instructions into his computer, ordering it to record a moment of footage from the number two camera. Now, moving quickly, he shut down the video feed and substituted a loop of the copied footage in its place. This was the trickiest part of the maneuver; the monitor hooked to camera two would blip out for a half a second while he made the switch.

And if anyone happened to be looking at it…well, then that was what was going to happen.

Slipping on his backpack again, Conor moved out into The Quadrangle at a brisk walk; he did not run. A moment later, he was standing at the base of a statue that had been placed here only somewhat recently. Up until about a year ago, it had occupied a hallway in the Zootopia Museum of Science and Industry, the honorable Dr. Lionel G. Lionheart.

Only distantly related to the former mayor of Zootopia—a great uncle twice removed—Dr. Lionheart had been a genuine polymath, a true Renaissance mammal. In his time, he had been an architect, a painter, a philosopher, and a poet. The twisting horns that graced the four corners of Zootopia Central Station were his design; the only items remaining from the original building. Several of his works hung in the Savanna Central Art Museum, and his treatise, 'On Being Feline' was considered a classic of the genre.

But it had been as an industrialist and an entrepreneur that Dr. Lionheart had made his biggest mark on the world. Spearheading the electrification of the City of Zootopia, he had accumulated a small fortune...which soon became a vast one as more and more of his business ventures prospered. He had also been the first mammal to propose dividing Zootopia into different climate zones, and had even drawn up plans for the venture. That had been one of the few of his ideas he hadn't lived to see brought to fruition. While the concept had been sound enough, the technology needed to make it a reality had not yet then existed.

Urged many times to run for public office, Dr. Lionheart had always politely declined, insisting that he could do more good as a private citizen. And good he had done; helping to found the Zootopia Philharmonic, and the Zootopia Opera Company. Later, he built the city's first movie palaces. It would have pleased him to no end to learn that his former estate was now the Zootopia Academy of the Performing Arts.

His former estate…

Like many another great mammal, Lionel Lionheart had sired a generation of …well there was no other way to put it, wastrels and ne'er-do-wells. Within twenty years of his passing, his heirs had run through his nearly entire fortune. What they didn't squander on lavish lifestyles, they lost in bad business deals. In one case, a sizable chunk of the late Doctor's money ended up in the pocket of a swindler who was never caught. Before another three years had passed, everything was gone, including the family estate, seized by the City of Zootopia in lieu of unpaid fines and taxes. For many years afterwards the property had remained in limbo…until another Lionheart had proposed its rebirth as a school for the performing arts.

Now Conor stood at the base of Dr. Lionheart's statue, his expression not unlike a pair of crossed fingers. Was all this really worth the risk?

"Dumb question, you're HERE already, aren't ya?" the young fox chided himself, gazing upwards at the sculpture. It depicted a short, burly lion, standing with an elbow on a plinth and his trademark pince-nez held in his other paw. The smile on his face seemed to suggest that he was sharing a private joke with the viewer. On the base of the statue, carved in Old Roman Script was an inscription, Qva Re Necesse Est, Qvod Svpergreditvr, 'Reality Is That Which We Must Rise Above.'

Those words had been Dr. Lionheart's lifelong motto. With an attitude like that, it was hardly surprising that Gazelle, the mammal who'd given the world 'Try Everything,' was a champion of the academy now adorning his former property.

None of that, however, was of any current interest to Conor Lewis; what was drawing his attention at the moment was the late Doctor's tail, winding its way around the base of the statue in a counterclockwise spiral. Of particular interest was the bulbous tail-tuft, about a foot to his right. Leaning forward on one leg, he reached out and rubbed his paw over the tuft as if trying to summon a genie.

Conor had no idea who had started the practice, but by now it was a common superstition among the students at ZAPA; rubbing the tip of Dr. Lionheart's tail was supposed to bring good luck.

And right now, this young silver fox needed all the luck he could get.

Turning on his heel, he went back the way he had come.

There were two more things that he knew about Dr. Lionheart, information of an infinitely more practical nature than any folklore surrounding his statue. First of all, like many other wealthy mammals of the period, he had been an eccentric by nature. Second—and much more important from Conor's point of view—Dr. Lionel Lionheart had been the whitest white lion anyone had ever seen, practically an albino. During his lifetime it had been said that viewed from a certain angle, his mane was practically translucent. Because of this, his eyes and the exposed parts of his skin were extremely sensitive to sunlight; by rights, he should have chosen to make his home in the Nocturnal District.

And so he might have done, except that it hadn't existed back in the day. For that reason, most of the walkways on the ZAPA campus were covered by awnings and, as had been discovered later on, not a few of the buildings were connected by underground tunnels.

In an institution filled with inquisitive young minds, it was only natural that a great many of these underground passageways would quickly become known to the student body. (The school had even refurbished two of them for their use.) Not all of the passageways had been discovered however. And many of those that had been found were secrets that the kids who unearthed them shared only with their closest friends—or sometimes not at all. For example, the location of the tunnel that led from Ainsley Hall to Dr. Lionheart's private trolley station—situated less than 100 yards from the terminus of the Pallet Express—was known only to one Conor Severus Lewis.

That, in fact, was the route he'd taken to get here tonight—and it was also how he intended to get here on the day of the audition. With a little luck, he'd be able to make his exit via the same course.

Luck, however, was something the fugitive young silver fox knew he couldn't count on...especially when he stopped to consider how much of his good fortune he'd already used up. His escape from custody, all by itself, should have been enough to seriously deplete his quota—hence the stop-off at Dr. Lionheart's sculpture.

His plan was a simple one; always the best kind, as Danny Tipperin had constantly reminded him. The night before the auditions, he would sneak in under cover of darkness and hole up somewhere close by the theater until an hour or so before the performances started. At that time, he'd make his way inside to watch Erin Hopps' audition. And then, after the theater emptied out, he'd go back to his hidey hole, remain there until nightfall, and leave the same way by which he had come.

All well and good, but those plans had been made when the auditions were scheduled to be held at a different location. And even if the venue hadn't been changed, Conor knew he needed a fallback scheme. Another thing Danny had told him, over and over and over, was, "No matter how careful you work things out kid, there's always friction, those glitches you never could have expected. Sometimes there's only a few, sometimes there's a lot. The rule is, hope for a few, be ready for a lot."

And there was potential here for a whole lot of friction. Conor knew from his forays into the ZPD database that Lieutenant Albert 'Tuff-Guy' Tufts had recently interviewed a certain Ms. Erin Hopps. What he'd asked her and what she'd said in response hadn't been in the police report, but even that had revealed a lot.

First of all, why hadn't it been there? Had it been redacted; did Tufts suspect that someone had been accessing the ZPD computer files? Or was he simply showing a wise sense of caution? Knowing how vulnerable their databases were, more and more police departments these days were reverting to written reports only...and who'd know that better than the head of ZPD Cybercrimes?

Conor couldn't be certain about any of this, but all of it had led him to a singular conclusion; he had better NOT underestimate that geek-face Kaibab squirrel, unless he wanted to earn himself a one-way ticket back to Granite Point. The smartest and wisest thing he could do—what he SHOULD do, let's face it—was be nowhere near this place on audition day.

But he'd made a promise!

And was Tuff-Guy Tufts aware of that promise? If the answer was yes, no way would the ZPD not be laying for him this coming Saturday. And that was the biggest reason for the fugitive young silver fox's presence here tonight; he'd keep his word to Erin and make it to her performance—but not without doing some prep-work first.

Skirting the perimeter of Ainsley Hall, Conor found himself facing the rear of the Hoofington Library. Scurrying on all fours across the short space between them, he skirted the library's perimeter, once again keeping to the shadows. This time, he wasn't worried about being spotted by any security cameras, having carefully chosen his route so as to avoid…

Security cams! Aw nuts, he'd forgotten to reactivate the camera overlooking The Lionheart Statue. Dumb, Dumb, DUMB fox; this was exactly the kind of mistake he needed to avoid if he didn't want to leave here in the back of police cruiser. Pulling himself into one of the many niches carved into the library's outer wall, he opened his laptop and corrected the error, all the while silently cursing himself.

And then he moved on.

Coming around towards the front of the building, Conor saw that he was catty-corner to the left-paw side of the Gazelle Amphitheater, named for the lady who had donated most of the funds to have it renovated.

Built largely of red-brick with just a touch of granite, the amphitheater was more or less a Neo-Greek theater; a semi-sunken, semicircular stage with a pavilion to the rear, and to the front, a crescent of rising stone bleachers, with an open lawn behind them. The main difference between here and a classical Greek Theater was the trapezoidal band-shell arcing over the stage. Well, not exactly a band-shell, it was curtained and there was also a stage-light gantry.

Conor wasn't entirely unfamiliar with this venue. In fact, he had performed here several times. For the spring production of Pig Floyd's The Wall, he'd been chosen to sing and play Dave Gilmare's part on Comfortably Numb. Ohhhh, what a night that had been; Mike Daehan had just crushed the synth solo on Run Like Hell, and the decision to add Dana Alchesay's fiddle to Mother had been a…

"Shut up and get OVER there!"

Dutifully obeying his inner voice, Conor dropped down to all fours, sprinting across the open space and around the back of the amphitheater.

About a third of the way along the structure's curving rear; he came to a nondescript plywood service door. It was currently secured by a padlock, but no problem; he had a key. In fact he'd had one since two weeks into his first semester here; making copies of a key these days was a cakewalk. No more cumbersome wax impressions, all you needed was two seconds, a good phone cam, and access to a 3D printer.

And that wasn't all. Like so many other new establishments these days, the Zootopia Academy of the Performing Arts tended to value efficiency over security. As a result, practically every padlock on the campus could be opened with a master key…like the one a certain young silver fox had in his pocket. That was the good news. The bad news was that it's impossible to close a padlock behind you, at least if it's attached to a solid door. And what that means is, any passersby will notice at a glance that it's been tampered with. Long story short, it might be doable to get into the amphitheater by way of this door tonight—but on Saturday, forget it! Before he could even think about coming to see Erin's performance, Conor knew he'd need to find another way into and, more importantly, another way out of this souvlaki stand.

Pushing open the door, he was instantly drenched in a cascade of sharp, pungent air, a mingling of turpentine and lacquer fumes; the room he was about to enter was normally employed as a paint locker. Fortunately the shelves had all been emptied for the summer, and with a quick influx of air from outside, the unit's interior became quickly tolerable. Closing the door behind him—it could be latched but not locked from the inside—Conor padded to the other end of the closet and felt for the handle. When he pushed down on it, it refused to budge. Oh great, it was locked from the other…but then it suddenly gave way, and he found himself on somewhat more familiar ground. He was inside the room normally reserved for set construction; rack upon rack of drop-cloth, pulleys dangling from the rafters, lights in cages, the floors and windows frosted with sawdust; and wafting through the air, the ever-present aroma of wood and paste. Moving across the floor he made a beeline to the door at the opposite end, not once bothering to look upwards. Incredibly, there were no security cameras inside the Gazelle Amphitheater...or the Lionheart Auditorium, for that matter.

The next part of the building was one with which he was even more intimately acquainted—the rehearsal room; beige walls, a parquet floor, a cathedral high ceiling, mirrors and a wooden practice bar lining one wall, and over in the corner, a battered, coffee-colored, baby-grand piano—a monstrosity that needed re-tuning after something like every fifth time it was played.

Giving his eyes a moment to become fully focused, Conor surveyed the wall opposite the mirror, looking for the door that would lead to the stage wings...

A moment later, he was standing at center-stage, gazing out at the rising rows of stone bleachers. With a wicked fox-grin, he raised an arm and began to solemnly intone, "Friends, Students, and Countrymammals, can you help a fellow Zootopian who's down on his luck?"

It was as far as he got before the bad joke died in his throat; knock it off fox-boy and get serious here.

Turning a slow 180, Conor did just that, making a careful study of his surroundings. One thing became obvious almost immediately. As far as dodging the law went, the Gazelle Amphitheater was better in some aspects than the Lionheart Auditorium, worse in others.

The Good:

Unlike the auditorium, which was located close to the center of the campus, the amphitheater could be accessed directly off the street. If Conor could lose himself in the crowd as they made their exit, he could be out of here before anyone realized that he'd ever even been in here. And on that subject, this place had nearly twice the seating capacity of its sister venue. While that didn't necessarily translate into a full house, it fit in nicely with the young silver fox's plans; there were going to be a lot fewer empty seats here on Saturday than anyone might have expected. Also, because this was an outdoor venue, there'd be no such thing as dimming the house lights. Everything beyond the stage would remain fully visible throughout the performances. Last but not least, in an outdoor venue, it would be that much easier for the fugitive young silver fox to keep downwind of his pursuers.

The Bad:

There was an underground tunnel beneath the Lionheart Auditorium that led directly to Ainsley Hall—one of several such passages. All fine and dandy, but what about this place? Conor had no idea, but he hoped to find out. Also, the proximity to the street was actually a two-edged sword; it meant that Tuff-Guy Tufts would be able to call in back-up on a moment's notice. And then there was the other, bigger trade-off. Holding the audition in an outdoor venue might make it easier for the young silver fox to scope out any cops looking to nail him—but it would also make it that much simpler for THEM to spot him.

The Ugly:

The biggest sticking point, from Conor's point of view, was that out here in the open, Tufts would have the option of using aerial surveillance to try and locate him; in other words, drones. And the amphitheater's topography would allow that blankety-blank squirrel to cover the entire venue with only three of them. AND…the Gazelle Amphitheater was a standalone structure, with no covered access; it would be impossible to get in or out of here without being visible from above.

…Unless he could find a tunnel leading from here to another building, but were there any such passageways anywhere in or around the Gazelle Amphitheater? None of the plans that Conor had studied had even so much as hinted at anything beneath this part of the campus. It was hardly surprising and only mildly discouraging. Practically every other tunnel that had been found so far had been discovered either by accident or via the hit-or-miss method. On the plus side, that meant the ZPD was probably unaware of the underground maze's existence—or were they? Lieutenant Tufts had interviewed several of the young fox's friends and classmates following his escape from the Precinct-1 jail. Had any of them revealed the existence of the Academy's secret passageways? They'd never give them up on purpose, of course, but what about by mistake; a few careless words, spoken without realizing it? That was entirely possible—and even if it wasn't, at least two of the ZAPA tunnels were known to the faculty as well as the students. Nooo, when he mulled it over, it was a good bet that the ZPD at least suspected the existence of those passageways.

Conor shook himself and shook it off. This was how things were and he'd just have to deal with the situation as best he could. But before he could go looking for any secret tunnel-work, he had another task to perform; finding a location from which he could view Erin's audition without being seen himself.

Ideally what he wanted was a vantage point with a hiding place close by, a place where he could hear but not see the proceedings on stage. The idea was that he would wait there until he heard Erin's introduction, and then come out just long enough to watch her audition…and then, as soon as she was finished, back under cover and then the interminable wait for the judges to announce their decision. An interminable wait for everyone else but not for Conor Lewis; when he saw Erin's performance, he'd know whether or not she'd made the cut, he'd know.

"I just hope you foxin' appreciate all the effort I'm makin' over here, Snowdrop," he silently groused to the absent bunny. "The things I gotta DO, just to keep my promises!"

Oh-kay-y-y, now where would be a good vantage point from which to observe her recital? Well, at least he knew where NOT to be on the big day, the wings at stage left. That was where all the hopefuls would be queued up on Saturday, waiting for their turn go on; it was how things had worked back when he had tried out for The Academy. True, last year's musical auditions had been held in a different venue, but Conor was willing to bet that though the location might have changed, the routine would remain the same; this coming Saturday, stage left was going to be Zootopia Central Station—at rush-hour!

And he could also forget about watching from the pavilion attached to the band-shell. He'd be a sitting duck for any drones up there, and have a lousy view besides. Still, the idea of watching Erin perform from an overhead location held a great deal of appeal for him—so what about the lighting gantry? Hmmm, now that had possibilities; no dimming of the house lights would also mean no stage lights, and therefore no lighting crew.

It took Conor several precious moments to find the stairs leading upwards to the lighting scaffold, but once he did, they turned out to make for a remarkably easy ascent; the larger part of the stairway was set up to accommodate smaller mammals and just perfect for a youngish fox. Reaching the top of the steps and padding carefully across the catwalk, Conor paused for a moment, took a breath and looked down. While not acrophobic by nature, he was also not arboreal by species. If the height was going to disorient him, he needed to know now, not on audition day.

Gazing downwards, he experienced only a very slight sense of vertigo. Oh-kayyy, so far, so good, but now he needed to…

Hel-looo, what have we here?

In the middle of the catwalk, almost directly over center-stage, a large disk of some kind had been mounted to the lighting scaffold. Hmmmm, what the heck was that for? Well, there was only one way to find out, go give it a look-see.

The disk turned out to be about six feet in diameter and extended maybe a foot or two from the lighting scaffold. Peering at it more closely, Conor noticed a small platform attached to its backside…for what purpose? He didn't have a clue, but heyyy, wait a minute. From the platform behind the disk, every single one of the spotlight stands was visible. All righty then; so this was where the lighting director did his thing…but, as the young silver fox had already pointed out to himself, there would be no stage lights on Saturday. Sooo, might this serve as a place to hide while waiting for Erin to go on?

Absolutely...unless someone on the stage below happened to look directly upwards. The gantry's catwalk had a latticework floor and his footpads would be clearly visible through the mesh—and easily recognizable as belonging to a fox. But wait, hold on, the little platform behind the disk had a solid floor; this might be the place to wait on Erin's audition after all.

That is, IF he'd be able to see her from up here. Moving to a spot just right of the disk, Conor bent over the railing and looked down a second time.

…And almost yipped.

From here, the entire stage was clearly visible—but not the audience or the wings. And Conor knew from what he'd been taught that if he couldn't see either one of those locations, nobody standing there would be able to see him. Even better, if he made this his vantage point, Tuff-Guy Tufts could let loose a whole squadron of drones and it wouldn't do him any good. The only way a drone cam would be able to see this particular spot would be if it flew in under the bandshell and then climbed up into the rafters above the gantry. No WAY would the school allow that to happen—especially not while someone was performing onstage. He had discovered nearly the perfect location from which to observe Erin's audition.

...Except for just one, itsy-bitsy problem; first, he'd have to make it up here without the gendarmes making him—and then he'd have to get back DOWN again, also without being spotted.

Climbing up here without anyone noticing would be tricky in the X-treme. The only way it would work would be if he was to haul his tail up here super early, before anyone else showed up. Ditto for getting back down to ground-level again, he'd have to wait until the amphitheater cleared out and darkness fell. Okay, there was downside number one; the disk only offered concealment only from the front and below. That would be fine if he only intended to hide here while the auditions were going on—but all the way from the night before, until way late on the night afterwards? It would be pushing things, to say the least.

And that was what brought him to downside number two; if the cops did manage to spot him up here, then what? He'd be trapped, that's what. All Tuff-Guy Tufts would need to do was block off the stairs leading up to the catwalk and Conor would be fox-toast. Ahhh, maybe not quite; on the back side of the scaffold was a virtual jungle of stage ropes, many of them dropping all the way to ground level.

Looking up for second, he spoke softly and apparently to no one.

"Thanks Danny," he said, referring to Danny Tipperin, the swift fox who had taught him something of the fine art of rappelling.

All right, so he knew how to get back down to stage level, even if the cops blocked off the stairs, but then what? Well, to figure that out, he would need to get back down to stage level right NOW. In the meantime, the disk would remain his hiding place of choice until, and unless, he found something better.

A moment later, he was crouching at center stage again, studying an image on his laptop screen and trying to recall what he knew.

Ever the diligent young fox when it came to doing his homework, Conor had made a careful study of the Lionheart Estate, even before his first nighttime foray onto the campus. As things turned out, he'd unearthed quite a bit of useful information. For example, there was the reason the old white lion had built himself an amphitheater in the first place.

Whenever he held one of his frequent soirees, Dr. Lionel Lionheart, ever the patron of the arts, would treat his guests to either a musical or a dramatic presentation. After a while it had become clear that he needed a proper venue for these performances—and so the amphitheater where Conor Lewis now hunkered had come to be.

Given the late doctor's sensitivities, one might have expected these events to be held only at night. Not so, according to what the young silver fox had read; there had been at least as many performances held here during the daytime as there had been after dark. The reason was that Dr. Lionheart's gatherings often had a much more practical purpose than mere entertainment. It was here, for example, that he had schmoozed the City Fathers into letting him erect Zootopia's first electric billboards. And that had been only one of the many deals he'd cut during an afternoon fête at his estate.

With that in mind, Conor had called up a vintage photograph on his laptop, a view from the amphitheater stage, back in the day when it had still belonged to the good doctor.

The photo was grainy, and of course it was in black and white, but nonetheless, several things were obvious.

First of all when the city had taken over the amphitheater, they had reduced the size of the orchestra pit and both reworked and expanded the seating arrangements. What had once been boxes were now bleachers—and those long-gone boxes had extended only as far back as the current tenth row. One box still remained however; Dr. Lionheart's private loge, situated at eighth-row center-stage, and now reserved for the use of Very Important Mammals.

Oh yes, that space had been reserved for Dr. Lionheart's use, all right. In the photograph on Conor's laptop screen, it was the only box covered by an awning—and also the biggest one in the theater. It was there that the judges would presumably be seated on audition day.

Of a more immediate concern to the young fox however, was that the photograph showed no covered pathway leading to Dr. Lionheart's opera-box. To reach it, he would have had to either employ a parasol—or else it would have had to be fitted with some kind of underground access. It was a chancy possibility, but definitely worth exploring.

As Conor had expected, the stage door was locked and he was obliged to slide down off the front of the stage and into the orchestra pit in order to make his way to the Lionheart box. It was only a short trek, but a little bit nerve-wracking, even at this late hour. The seats around him were hewn from dark-gray limestone and he had absolutely no cover; he felt as exposed as a black ant, attempting to cross a linen table-cloth. It didn't help that since his 'transformation' into an arctic fox he stood out against darkness a great deal more than before he'd made the change.

When he got to the opera box, no exit was visible in either the walls or the floor, but that was hardly astonishing. Every tunnel the ZAPA students had found so far had been accessed by way of a secret panel, usually in the walls, sometimes in the floor, but all of them opened the same way. Push once on the left side then twice on the right and the panel would pop open.

Deciding that it was worth the risk, Conor slipped on a headlamp, setting the power at the dimmest possible level. After less than two seconds of playing the beam over the walls he stopped and pulled it off again, grumbling with a mixture of resignation and frustration. The back wall of the box had recently been given a fresh coat of paint. Whatever cracks and fissures might have been there to indicate a secret exit were currently invisible; he would have to do this the hard way.

He started at the far left corner, pressing once with a pair of gloved paws and then, remembering that the exit would need to be big enough to accommodate a lion, he moved four feet to the right and pushed twice. Nothing happened, and he moved back three feet to the left and repeated the process; still nothing—and nothing on the next try, or the next try, or the one after that.

But then, on the following attempt, Conor thought he heard a tiny click when he pushed on the left side of the wall. When he pushed again on the right side, he heard another click, much more distinct. And on the next push, the 'wall' swung inward with a low scraping noise.

The door turned out to be much harder to close than it had been to open, and the fugitive young silver fox was obliged to put his back into it to get the thing shut again. At once he found himself enveloped in an inkblot of Stygian blackness; there were no lights of any kind in the passageway—and no point in waiting for his eyes to adjust. Even the best night vision won't allow you to see in total darkness.

Not to worry, Conor had expected this; it was why he'd brought the headlamp. A moment later found him padding down the tunnel that led from what had once been Dr. Lioneart's private box. The interior was spacious—no great revelation there—but also surprisingly clean for a passageway that had been abandoned for so long. There was very little dust and only a few cobwebs. Unfortunately, that small amount of dust was still enough that he was leaving footprints in his wake. They didn't matter now but they'd matter a lot on the day of the auditions; he would need to do something about this. On the other paw, the air in the passageway was so dang musty, he was obliged to stop and put on a surgical mask. (Yes, that was a good thing; unpleasant as it was, it would help to obscure his scent when Saturday arrived.)

Moving down the underground causeway, Conor found that he had no sense of direction. But again, no sweat; being a fox, he was able to use the earth's magnetic field to help him navigate. He was headed right back the way he had come, towards the amphitheater stage. It should have come as no surprise; Dr. Lionheart had liked to fursonally introduce the acts that performed for his guests. And now, lo and behold, here was a fork in the tunnel. To the left was a passageway leading somewhere off into the darkness, but the right side ended in a flight of wide-spaced steps. Taking them two at a time, the young fox soon found himself facing another door panel. Like every other tunnel entrance he'd encountered on the ZAPA campus, this one was much easier to open from the inside than the outside, all you had to do was pull on a handle. Of course, said handle was set at large-mammal rather than small-mammal height, but this smaller-mammal had long since mastered the trick; jump up, grab the handle with both paws, brace your feet against the door and pull.

Dropping back down to the floor again, Conor peered beyond the doorway and stepped through the frame, making sure to wipe his feet first. At once, he found himself deep inside the right-side stage wings. Ahhh, this was good; the kids waiting to go on would be queued up on the other side of the amphitheater. Hmmm, perhaps he should watch Erin from here rather than up in the lighting gantry. He'd have an excellent view and be able to make his exit immediately afterward. Maybe…except this part of the stage was deserted now, but what would it be like this coming Saturday?

He would just have to wait and see.

Slipping back through the door again and closing it behind him, Conor continued with his exploration, following the left side branch of the tunnel, the one that led away to an unknown destination.

This time he had no idea where he was going; oh, he knew in which direction he was headed—but where was that direction taking him? He didn't have the slightest inkling.

But he'd find out soon enough; there, just up ahead, was another flight of stairs. And this time there was no junction with another tunnel; end of the line, everybody out.

It took the fugitive young silver fox three tries to get the door to respond…and when it did, it swung inward so fast it nearly fly-swatted him against the wall. Cursing at nothing, he stormed out of the exit—and immediately skidded to a halt with his jaw hanging open.

What the fox? There was the amphitheater stage in front of him. He was right back where he'd started.

Wait, no he wasn't. The stage he was looking at had been furnished with a set; a minimalist arrangement to be sure—two chairs, a table, and a fake wall with a window—but a set nonetheless.

That was when Conor realized where he was…and when he figured it out, he didn't know whether to whoop, click his heels, or throw a fist in the air. Hallelujah, oh happy day, and let the good times roll; he was backstage inside the Lionheart Auditorium! It was no great shock that the underground passageway from the outdoor theater had led him here; in fact it was more of a 'well, DUH!' moment. Prior to its refurbishing, this had been the estate's main banquet hall. Why wouldn't there be a below-ground passage leading from here to the amphitheater? He should have known it all along, dumb fox.

Only…where the heck had those stage props come from? They hadn't been here during his last...

Oh wait, now he remembered. On the previous Saturday, the Zootopia Academy for the Performing Arts had held the auditions for the acting hopefuls—and on that particular day it had been 90 degrees in the shade with 80 percent humidity. In conditions like that, it went without saying that the acting tryouts would be held indoors—meaning in here.

None of that was of immediate import to Conor Lewis, however; what mattered to him was that this was a venue he knew like the back of his paw. There were at least three other tunnels beneath the Lionheart Auditorium, including one that led to a junction with four, count 'em, four other passageways. And HE knew exactly where every single one of them went. Woo-hoo, his earlier scouting trips hadn't been a waste of time after all. Once he got this far, he'd be home free.

Ahhh, it was all just too much for a young fox to resist. Strolling to the middle of the stage Conor turned towards the audience and dropped down on one knee. And then, spreading his paws in the manner of Al Joeyson in The Jazz Singer, he began to croon…

"If I can maaaake…it…there,
I'll make it annnn-y-where."

That was as far as he got before the peeping of his smart-watch cut off his rendition at the knees. When he looked, he saw that it was...whoa, 4:00 AM, already? How the heck had this one little scouting little mission taken so long? Well-l-l whatever the reason, he needed to be out of here before the sun came up. So saying, he pointed into the stage wings, intoning in a lofty voice, "Exiiiit—stage right!"

And then that was what he did.

There are many uneasy moments in the life of the average mammal, but perhaps none so anxiety-inducing as trying to figure out exactly the right moment to ask your boss for some time off—especially if A, you're a new employee, and B, he doesn't like you very much.

That was where Judy Hopps was right now…in spades; this was only her first week working Cybercrimes Division. And if anyone doubted that Lieutenant Albert Tufts, ZPD, was not particularly fond of her, he had just made the doe-bunny pull her second all-nighter in the space of three days.

It had been a shift spent either filing reports or writing them…and then rewriting them again when the Kaibab squirrel invariably found them unacceptable by way of some petty reason.

By now, Judy felt completely drained, both physically and emotionally. The last thing she wanted to do was buttonhole her boss and ask him for Saturday off. She would have shined on making the request already—except for why she wanted that specific day off. Her sister was coming to audition for acceptance into the Zootopia Academy of the Performing Arts. To be free to attend that performance, almost no sacrifice was too great. And, tired as she was, it had not escaped the doe-bunny's attention that Lieutenant Tufts was always in his best humor when preparing to clock out for the day. Even so, she was taking no chances, having already informed Erin that her chances of making it to the ZAPA auditions were iffy at best. The younger bunny had tried to put a good face on it, but the disappointment in her voice had been as clear as a bugle call.

"Oooo, Tufts just has to let me have Saturday... Wait, here he comes."

He came scurrying along the space between the cubicles with Claire Swinton walking beside him, the two of them deep in conversation. Luckily for Judy, she was able to catch the pig cop's eye as they passed and Swinton immediately interrupted herself, pretending that she'd just remembered a phone-call she had to make.

That was the doe-bunny's cue and she took it.

"Excuse me…Lieutenant Tufts?"

He stopped and turned towards her. While the tone of his voice was cordial enough; his words were definitely not. "Did you finish rewriting that report, Hopps?"

"Uh, yes sir," she said, trying to remember what she'd done with it. "I…left it with Detective LaFollette."

"I'll look at it tomorrow," the squirrel replied, as if she'd been pestering him about it all day. He turned to go and Judy hurriedly raised a finger.

"Sir, before you leave…"

"What is it, Detective?" Tufts turned back again, paws on hips and an expression that fairly screamed 'This had better be good, rabbit.'

"Ohhh, I am SO wasting my time here," Judy told herself for something like the thirtieth time. And then she said, "Sir, I know I only just started…"

"Get ON with it, Hopps!"

With an inward sigh, "Ohhh-kay, let's get this over with," she cleared her throat and broached the subject. "All right…well, my sister Erin is coming to Zootopia for her audition to get into the Performing Arts Academy, and my family's going to be…"

"Yes, yes…you can have Saturday off," the Kaibab squirrel chittered, waving an irritable paw and turning to leave once again. Now he sounded as if she was making much ado about nothing.

For the zillionth time since she'd started here, Judy was tempted to respond with something smart-mouthed. This time, however, it was an enticement she found easy to resist.

"Whoo-hoo, he said yes!" her inner voice crowed, "'Kay, now don't just stand there Jude; tell him thanks and get your tail out the door before he changes his mind."

Wisely choosing to heed this counsel, Judy practically gushed. "Oh, thank you so much, Lieutenant. Erin would have been so disappointed if I couldn't have made it. I'll see you tom…I-I mean this evening."

And then she hurried through the door without another word.

Tufts watched her for a moment with his tail flipping. He was about to follow her out when he became aware of a presence beside him.

"What is it, Swinton?" he said without looking up.

"You're…not going to…TELL her?" the pig-cop asked incredulously.

Now the Kaibab squirrel did look up at her.

"No, Officer Swinton…and I don't want YOU saying anything to her about it either—and that goes for everyone else. I want Detective Hopps kept out of the loop; do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly sir," the pig-cop answered, still puzzled, "but…but why, Lieutenant?"

He responded with a throwaway shrug. "Because we don't need to inform her; if we require her help later on, she'll be right there; and if we don't…well, we don't." It was a weak response and both of them knew it. What followed wasn't weak, it was WAY out of line. "And besides that, if I inform Hopps about the operation, she just might tell her sister about it…and then she'll tell the Lewis kid; noooo, thank you."

Claire felt the bristles on her back starting to rise.

"Sir, with all due respect, Judy Hopps is an officer of the ZPD…"

"And also a rabbit; you know what they're like," the Lieutenant cut her off, "especially with family."

"No sir, I don't know what they're like," the pig-cop responded in a voice that was frozen stiff. What the heck, now? She'd heard her share of prejudice directed at rabbits in her time, but this was something new entirely; never before had anyone suggested to her that bunnies were motor-mouths. As a matter of fact, that particular stereotype was more often applied to the Lieutenant's own species; project much, nutcracker-boy?

Tufts, for his part, had either taken no notice of the ice in her voice or else he'd chosen to ignore it. "Get the door for me please?" It was more of an order than a request.

Swinton had a few more things to say, but wisely chose to keep them to herself—at least until she was safely behind the wheel of her car where, hopefully, no one would be able to hear her.

She held it back just long enough to get the door closed—and then she exploded, "Snot-nosed, speciest, little two-faced JERK! I swear, if I ever get tagged to work under you again, I'm quitting the stinking police-force!"

No sooner were the words out of her mouth, than Claire fell into an anxious silence, looking furtively around to make sure she hadn't been overheard. Threats didn't come any hollower than the one she'd just made; there was no way she could even think about quitting the ZPD…not now.

That was when something else occurred to her, something that made her unable to suppress a smile. Judy Hopps hadn't had time to mention that the Performing Arts Academy auditions were scheduled for this coming Saturday—and yet Tufts had known when they were being held, right off the top of his head.

If Judy hadn't been so elated that she would be able to attend her sister's audition, she wouldn't have missed that little tidbit.

"But she won't miss it for long," Swinton smiled to herself. "She's one VERY clever rabbit; you don't make Detective as quickly as she did without being able to connect the dots. Hmmm, too bad Tufts already checked out for the day; I'd be willing to bet him a twenty right now that by this coming Saturday, she has all his plans figured out exactly."