[center][b]Year Zero[/b]
by [name]JustLurking[/name]
Chapter 3[/center]

It was about a month later that Cælin shared his thoughts with Davian.

Both he and Mor had been running small errands at his behest. Mostly they were relaying messages on the factory floor between their fellow workers from the other huts and Davian.

The messages were always passed by whisper as two foxes stood side by side or happened to cross paths. Neither the carrier nor the recipient would look at the other and the recipient never gave any sign of acknowledgement or understanding once the message was spoken.

There were problems with the system of message passing they had developed though. In the noisy environment of the factory it was difficult to hear a furson speaking at normal volume let alone in a whisper. The sound covered their surreptitious communications from the wolves but it also meant that the recipient might not hear the complete message. It was also necessary to break off if a wolf happened to be looking or if one walked by.

In practice the messengers of the resistance repeated the same messages to as many other messengers as they could. The hope was that if one messenger didn’t get the complete message two messengers might get two different bits of the message and be able to put them together later in the barracks.

It was a task which required very good memory. Cælin and Mor got a lot of practice though. The resistance was beginning to get organised in earnest and everyone had something to say to the other huts.

The foxes were restricted in their movements around the Redstaff compound, but by asking every group to identify who was in their hut and the huts neighbouring theirs the layout of the huts could be ascertained. Families who were split up received news of each other. Lists of premises the foxes had access to were distributed.

Even so, the Redstaff foxes had only limited contact with each other and had yet to make contact with the outside world and any other foxes who might have formed resistance groups. It was that, among other things that Cælin found himself asking Davian about.

“Sure it’s a problem,” Davian conceded, frustration at Cælin’s question plain to hear, “but what can we do about it? Do you have the solution?”

Cælin was forced to admit he hadn’t. The conversation would have ended there if it weren’t for Mor.

“I do.” She said simply.

This wasn’t the response Davian was expecting. “Oh?” He said, “Do tell.”

“We need to start using steganography and cryptography.” She said as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“How will that help us reach the outside?” Davian asked.

“Steganography is the art of hiding one message inside another and enc…” Mor began.

“And cryptography is making a message unreadable to anyone but the intended recipients.” He finished for her, “I know what the words mean Mor I just don’t understand what you mean.” His voice was soft but there was tiredness there too.

“Well there is one obvious way to get a message out of Redstaff.” Mor said.

“Which is?” Cælin beat Davian to the question.

“The offices in the main building. They’ll have lots of links with the outside world, fast connections to the wolven networks, voice links, letters and parcels going in and out.” She explained, “We couldn’t just send a letter ourselves - I mean Never mind what would happen when the wolves found and read it, who would we address it to? Fox number x y z, the middle of the cesspit, the city dump, Lyngvi?”

“But,” Cælin said catching on now, “if we had a fox in the offices, one who had access to their computers, they could doctor real letters to include our hidden messages. And the wolves wouldn’t suspect anything because they would have written and sent them not us.”

“We’d have to find a fox in the main building we could trust.” Davian said slowly mulling the idea over, “I mean really trust. There’s not many of those.”

“There most be at least one you can think of.” Mor pleaded. Begging Davian not to destroy her faith in her species. “Surely, there has to be one?”

“Yes.” Davian said warming to the idea, “I can think of someone who might fit the bill.”

Suddenly a thought struck Cælin and all the joy left his face “That’s all well and good,” he said glumly, “but there’s no point sending a message which is hidden and in code if no one on the outside can find and decode it.”

“That’s not as big a problem as you might think.” Davian said the gears in his head now turning in earnest, “Mor was on the right track with the parcels. We get a message to the foxes in the delivery firm first explaining how to read and write the messages. They operate nation wide - if anyone is in a position to carry our messages it’s them.”

“But,” Cælin said “the first message still has to be sent in the clear. It’s a big risk.”

“Yes. It’s the weak spot in the plan.” Davian agreed, “But if we can carry it off then everything else should be okay.”

They called over a fox who had been a professor of mathematics before the fall.

“Okay, but why do we need the crypto?” the mathematician asked, “That’s just making things more complicated isn’t it?”

Cælin sighed and then explained, “It’s so they can’t just grab any old fox read them a letter and then torture the real message out of them.”

“Oh.” The former mathematician, used to dealing in more abstract problems, obviously hadn’t considered that.

It took almost a week, but between them they managed to come up with a code of about 200 symbols which they thought would be sufficient to coordinate and plan with other resistance groups, a method of encrypting the symbols so that they could only be understood by the recipient and a method of hiding the symbols in ordinary text or speech.

In the mean time Cælin and Mor were busier than ever. In addition to the work they were doing for the wolves, they also saw an increase in the number of messages they had to deliver. Mor and Davian’s plan was simply too important for them to carry out unilaterally. So they’d put the plan to the vote and everyone had something to say about it.

By the end of the week Cælin found himself complaining about his “…poor aching head…” Mor had offered to kiss it better for him. That had lead to them sharing kisses all over each other under their blanket.

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Eventually the plan was approved.

The plant chosen was a vixen called Iris, one of the privileged slaves who was chosen for her looks rather than for being an informer. Officially she worked in the office as a PA to a middle manager, an overweight wolf who apparently had bad breath. Her owner would occasionally ask her to take dictation, it didn’t fool anyone but appearances had to be kept up apparently, so she had a reason to have access to the computers.

The only thing that remained was to write the initial letter explaining their system to the foxes on the outside. The duty of penning it fell to Davian.

Cælin called it “a message in a bottle.”

On the appointed night after the cherub-faced tod had delivered their plates and food the foxes of the resistance gathered around Davian. There was no jovial chatter or friendly banter now. A reverent silence filled the air - all knew the significance of this moment.

Fortunately, Derwynn had, as predicted, been elevated to the racks of the privileged in his first couple of weeks so they could perform this task in the open with out fear of being reported to the wolves.

Davian fanned out the plastic plates, a scrap of folded paper fluttered out. A sigh of relief could be heard from the assembled foxes. Iris had managed to smuggle it in after all.

Mor blessed her and the nameless tod under her breath.

Davian placed the scrap on the ground in front of himself and flattened it. He placed his left hand palm down on an exposed edge of one of the metal bunks. In his right hand he held a pointed sliver of wood taken from the floor boards.

Cælin winced, ears folding back. He knew what was coming next.

They’d discussed where to find a pen all last week. In this age of computers and truly paperless offices the only pens to be found were expensive ornaments, cherished by their owners and used only for writing the most special of correspondence. All of which would be missed. In the end they realised that none of them were going to be able to smuggle one into the hut.

Davian jerked his left hand down the leg of the bunk sharply. Blood flowed from his palm, down the leg of the bunk and onto the floor, where it was greedily absorbed by the porous wood.

A few drops of the red fluid landed perilously close to the paper. “Careful, careful…” A voice breathed from the back of the crowd.

Davian ignored the voice and, dipping the fragment of wood into his wound, proceeded to make a few practice strokes on the floor before commencing with the letter.

The foxes watched on.

Soon he was done.

Cælin slid the precious letter away from Davian, who’s blood soaked hands couldn’t touch the parchment with out obliterating the words, and picked it up. He blew on the paper to dry the text. The first lines had already dried - turning a dark brown as they did so - the remainder were already well on their way.

Mor came up behind Davian and bound his left hand using bandages they’d made in advance from strips of blanket. She held the older fox who was suffering slightly from his blood loss. Along with another fox, she helped guide him into his bunk.

The foxes passed out the food silently for once. All eyes and minds were on the paper or Davian.

When they were done eating, Davian declared himself to be feeling much better and immediately fell asleep. As far as they could tell it was simple exhaustion and not in any way life threatening.

Cælin washed and dried two of the plates, put the message in between them and put them in the middle of the pile of dirty plates. Then he went to his bunk and tried to sleep.

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A thirty something tod stalked purposefully down one of the corridors in a dingy warehouse in the industrial sector. Outside it was raining. The water hammered on the roof as it pelted down.

The fox had a very clear destination in mind and a very clear set of instructions to carry out. In his hand he held a very expensive lump of metal covered in coils of wire. He didn’t know what it was for only that it was important.

He reached his destination at the back of the warehouse - goods outwards. More importantly, as far as he was concerned, this room also housed the skips.

He crossed the floor making for skip number two.

“You there!” a voice called out, “What have you got there.”

The fox looked up at the wolven manager who was even now walking towards him.

He looked the wolf straight in the eye, “Defective sir.” He said brandishing the lump of metal, “The boys upstairs told me to get rid of it.”

He walked over to skip two, opened the lid, placed the gadget on top of it and closed the skip. All in plain sight of the manager.

“Bloody lazy layabouts.” The manager muttered under his breath, obviously referring to the ‘boys upstairs’, “Fetch me a cup of coffee vulp.” He demanded in a louder voice.

“Yes sir.” The fox said as he went off to find a cup, his task now completed.

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The garbage truck pulled up behind the warehouse and two foxes got out. They immediately went for the skips and wheeled them round to the arm at the back of the truck.

While one loaded the first bin into the back of the truck the other opened the second and started looking through it. He didn’t have to look long, the expected component was near the top. He pocketed the device and took the first bin back while his co worker loaded the second into the truck.

Then they got into the truck, out of the rain, and drove off.

The first fox drove whilst the second emptied his pockets into his lap. That had been the final piece. He looked at the mess in his lap. As ordered they’d picked up dozens of unidentifiable components and one set of jeweller’s screwdrivers along their route though the industrial sector. Now it was time to assemble them.

Working mostly by touch so as not to draw any attention to himself he began connecting the components as he had been instructed to. He didn’t know what he was making but it didn’t matter.

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A medium sized limo pulled up in front of a large office block.

The driver, a fox who was carrying a bundle of oily cloth and was attired in a cream chauffeur’s uniform and peaked cap, dove out of the car into the rain and towards the bins at the side of the building.

He ran back to the car and got in the driver’s seat. His passenger was already seated.

“Where the devil where you!” He demanded.

The fox looked in the rear view mirror as he addressed the wolf, “Sorry sir. The last passenger made a bit of a mess sir.” He held up the cloth so the wolf could see and then stowed it under the driver’s seat.

“Gad!” The wolf said, “Smells a bit doesn’t it?”

“Yes sir. Sorry sir it was very messy.” the fox answered his voice respectful, “It’s raining sir, but if you like I could roll the windows down.”

“No, no. That won’t be necessary,” the wolf said trying to wave the smell away, “just try and make the journey quick.”

“Very good sir.” The fox replied as he started the car and drove onto the main road.

They drove into the suburbs and traffic began to thin out. On their way to the wolf’s destination they crossed a bridge which spanned a maglev line. Finally they reached a large house in one of the more exclusive areas of Lyngvi.

Without a word to his driver the wolf darted out into the rain and towards the covered porch. He had no reason to talk of course. His bill, a standing order, had been paid in advance. The driver was a slave and therefore no tip was required. It went without saying that one did not engage in banter with a social inferior like a fox.

Unperturbed the driver, put the car in gear and drove off. As he approached the bridge he wound down the driver’s side window and reached for the bundle under his seat. As he crossed the bridge he hurled the foul smelling mess of metal, coils and wires he’d found in the bins out onto the line. It landed in the middle of the track.

His job done, he rolled up his window and drove onto his next appointment.

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The 10:42 to City Central thundered down the line and under the bridge, floating on a bed of carefully balanced and opposing magnetic forces.

A thousandth of a second later the device on the line, powered by electrical induction, sprung to life.

At two thousandths of a second the device had built up and released a charge across the rails, shorting the tracks.

By four thousandths of a second the short had travelled all the way through the system and fused the transformer which powered a quarter of the city’s maglev system.

A mere second after the device was activated the maglev trains on the effected parts of the network lost power and gracelessly dropped a foot to the ground.

The train which had provided the device with power crushed it to a fine foil and destroyed the only piece of evidence in the process.

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The foxes were uproarious about their first victory over their loup oppressors. As soon as they got word about the blow they’d dealt the wolves spontaneous celebration broke out. They had only the rations and water to celebrate with, but none of the foxes minded - the sweet taste of success flavoured them.

Davian led them all in song. They sat in circles or milled about, clapping their hands or stamping their feet in time to the song.

Fox folk songs were notoriously dirty, rowdy and irreverent affairs involving needlessly lurid descriptions of sex and violence, peppered with disgusting noises and overly complicated plots packed with mischief, one-upmanship and pranks.

They’d just got to the bit where the knight in shining armour was waiting out side of the cave where the dragon Flaa’zt (made to rhyme with a disgusting noise and sung extra loud of course) was holding the beautiful (and slutty) princess captive.

The knight, who was also a prince from a neighbouring kingdom, had journeyed to the cave with a particularly greedy priest (‘Blessings child, from the Fox God - only Z̩̍5!’) from the local village temple.

Their plan was to distract the dragon by having the knight challenge him to single combat whilst the priest rescued the princess and stole his treasure using the invisible medallion of invisibility the knight acquired (well, stole) on a previous adventure.

Of course, being a fox story, things weren’t that simple. The priest had sneaked in only to find that the princess, the dragon and a yeoman from the village were busily engaged in a three way. So now the priest (who was still invisible) was beating off to his voyeuristic pleasures and the knight was left standing outside yelling into the dark cave trying to get the dragon to come out and fight.

The story would end with the knight getting the princess, the priest making a successful run for the neighbouring kingdom with the dragon’s gold in the princesses’ clothes and the yeoman and the dragon deciding that three-ways weren’t as much fun as they were made out to be and opting to remain monogamous from now on.

Unfortunately they didn’t to the end as the wolves picked that point to break down the door. The song died away.

“You lot!” the lead guard yelled at them, his face was crimson even through his fur, “What are you celebrating!?”

One of the foxes sitting in the circle nearest him raised his hand, “Our spring festival, sir.” He said meekly.

“Spring festival!? It’s yiffin’ summer!” The wolf screamed.

“We’re running a bit late?” The hapless fox offered.

A swift kick in the side of the head showed him what the guard thought of that excuse.

“I know what you’re so happy about!” He bellowed, “And it stops now! 0642-116159 front and centre!”

All eyes were on Davian, the owner of the number, as he stood up and walked calmly to the front of the hut to face the livid wolf. The lead guard, grabbed for his left hand and examined the cut there. Then he nodded to the wolves flanking him. Two guards stepped forward, gripped the pudgy fox by his upper arms and dragged him out side.

“If I had my way I’d skin the whole lot of you.” The lead guard said in a dangerous growl, “But you’re too valuable to Redstaff alive. Make sure you stay that way.”

Then he left.

Needless to say, the party didn’t start up again.

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Davian was deposited on a wooden bench on the far side of a small stone cell. There was another fox already sitting on the bench.

He was wearing a blue boiler suit, a uniform which wasn’t used by Redstaff. His face was covered with cuts and bruises. Blood caked his fur and stained the neck line of his clothing.

A wolf in a suit stepped through the doorway and addressed him, “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out?” He asked.

Davian didn’t reply, instead his gaze focused on the figure who walked a step behind and to the right of his inquisitor.

It was Derwynn! The fox who betrayed his own kind for a better bed and nicer food. He looked quite smug, as if Davian’s suffering proved how right he had been in his betrayal. The terrible thing as far as Davian was concerned was that he might actually be right.

“Not talking?” The wolf continued, “Well you’d better start soon. We know everything! Your accomplice was carrying this. He destroyed it before we could read it but we still matched the blood on it to you.”

The wolf produced a plastic bag containing a ball of mulched up paper with red streaks running through it.

“We have a confession from your accomplice”, he gestured at the bloody fox as he continued, “We know you were planning to smuggle supplies in from the outside.”

Davian silently thanked the Fox God and his bloody compatriot for the lie he had thought up and the wolves had bought into.

The suited wolf slammed his hands against the stone wall either side of Davian making him jump.

“Confess and tell me who your accomplices were and we can be nice about this.” The wolf stared right into his eyes, his face a fractions of an inch from his own.

“Okay,” Davian said, preparing himself to do the best and final piece of acting of his life, “I confess. I planned to smuggle in food and supplies and distribute them in exchange for favours.”

“And your accomplices?” The wolf asked calmly.

“None. I didn’t need them.” Davian said levelly.

“What about that runt Cælin?” Derwynn demanded, “You and he were awful close last I saw.”

“What? Mr Foxes-are-all-brothers-and-sisters?” Davian said derisively, “You think he’d be a part of this?”

Derwynn thought about it, “True.” He replied.

“Keep your thoughts to yourself Derwynn.” The wolf said, “When I want your input I’ll ask for it.”

He turned to address the guards, “Kill them.” Was all he said. Then he turned and left, Derwynn at his side.

The guards hoisted their sub machine guns as one and took aim.

Davian turned to face his cohort. They didn’t know each other, had never met before, but they were both going to die for their part in the cause to free their people. They held each others gaze and some how they knew the other was thinking the same.

The fire from the guns rang out.

Davian’s last thought was ‘I hope this is worth it.’

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It was only an hour or so later that Derwynn sauntered into his former hut to deliver the bad news. A sadistic grin was plastered across his muzzle. He was escorted by two guards, obviously the wolves didn’t trust their ‘trustworthy slaves’ enough to let them visit the huts unsupervised.

The foxes turned to look at him as he entered.

“Oh gods! What do you want amber-eyes?” A disgusted and unidentified voice asked.

“Me?” Derwynn said, “I just thought you’d like to know what happened to Davian that’s all.”

Satisfied that he had everyone’s attention he continued, “Your precious Davian has been shot.” He paused briefly before delivering what he thought was the ultimate blow, “For black market smuggling. That’s right, fine upstanding Davian was just another lowlife traitor. Willing to get you anything you wanted. For the right favours of course.”

Cælin was stunned, not because he believed Derwynn, but from relief. They didn’t know the truth, Davian had spun some fairy story to keep them off the scent - and it had worked!

Mistaking Cælin’s shock for denial, Derwynn pushed on “You know, you should really be thanking me Cælin. He was taking a special interest in you and your girlfriend. I bet if he hadn’t been stopped when he was you would have ended up as his little pets before too long. Willing to do anything for him for a hit of whatever he got you hooked on, I think.”

The image obviously excited him, Cælin snarled in disgust.

“No!” He shouted back, “I don’t believe you. Get out of here you lying scum.”

His sentiment was echoed by the rest of the foxes.

“Ungrateful as ever Cælin.” He sneered, “I promise you Davian is dead for smuggling contraband. I’ll see you around some time kit.”

He left along with his guard into the night.

There was silence, the foxes absorbed what they had heard. Slowly, by unspoken consensus, they gathered in the centre of the hut.

Eoin was the first to speak, “They don’t know.” He said in a voice of quite awe, it was obvious that he hadn’t been expecting their ignorance.

“I vote we keep it that way,” a teenage fox voiced, “No more sending clandestine messages to the outside.”

“Davian (creator keep his soul) died so we could send those messages.” Alyn replied in a tone which had a dangerous edge to it, “The wolves can’t see the messages. They don’t even know to look for them. We’re home and clear thanks to Davian. The only reason to stop talking to the outside world is cowardice.”

“Alyn’s right” Cælin said his voice full of fire, “Our link to the outside is Davian’s legacy to us and it’s with that Davian’s legacy that we will avenge him. It’s with Davian’s legacy that we will avenge all the loved ones we’ve lost. It’s with that legacy that we show those loup what a mistake it was taking us prisoner and it’s with that legacy that we will gain our freedom!”

He looked at the skulk of foxes who surrounded him, “I can’t promise that there won’t be more deaths, in fact I can guarantee that there will be. I don’t know if it’ll be you or you or me.” He pointed at several foxes in turn ending with himself, “The chances are we’re not all going to see freedom. But some of us will and that will be because we had the courage and conviction to use Davian’s legacy to us.”

A murmur of approval went through the assembled foxes at Cælin’s words. He didn’t know it but with that speech he had just been unofficially elected as Davian’s successor and the de facto head of the foxen resistance for Lyngvi City.

