[center][b]Year Zero[/b]
by [name]JustLurking[/name]
Chapter 2[/center] 

It was a long voyage.

Cælin and Mor had plenty of time to memorise their numbers. They took turns reciting the number off the tag attached to the other’s ear and testing their recall of it.

They killed about half a day that way. The journey took nearly a fortnight.

The ventilation in the hold was provided by huge fans which turned leisurely unhurried arcs in the gloom that was the ceiling space. They were designed and installed to cool cargo and were completely inadequate for the skulk of foxes who now resided in the hold. Mor knew that above deck winds and the rough sea would drop the temperature to single digits, but the air beneath deck, breathed by a hundred thousand oppressed foxes and warmed by their body heat, was hot and heavy.

Spaced between and suspended below the fans were extremely dim fluorescent strip lights which provided the only light. They moved as pendulums, back and forth against the motion of the ship, casting crazy dancing shadows as they rocked.

Hot air carries moisture better than cold air and the air in the hold carried the sea mist very well. Droplets and puddles were deposited on every surface by the muggy atmosphere.

The rivers of salt water flowed down eating at every bit of metal in the room as they went and carrying the dissolved rust to still pools on the floor. They tinted the little light which was provided to the foxes an sickly orange-red.

Distance mournful groans and crying could be heard sporadically in all directions. The few conversations the down trodden foxes shared were brief and spoken in whispers.

For the most part none of the foxes even made eye contact outside of their small groups of friends and loved ones. Most were in shock and unwilling or unable to acknowledge the situation they found themselves in. Occasionally a pair of foxes would catch each other’s eyes and hold the glance, seeing the pain and fear there, a moment of pure honesty would pass between them, a shared understanding of the reality of their plight. Then they would shudder and avert their eyes - trying to repress the memory and bury the horrible truth from even themselves.

Not all were silent and still though. There were some who felt that without liberty or laws there was nothing left to lose and that it was every fox for themselves.

An older tod in a cage adjacent to Mor’s kept leering at her, when she looked over at him he would make lewd and suggestive motions. She found the attention unsettling and was very glad for the space which  separated them. The other captives in his cage seemed to hold him in contempt as well and sat apart from him. She tried to keep her back to the offensive fox as much as possible.

Cælin expressed his pity for the pervert, saying “He’s lost more than we have. We lost our homes and our families and our freedom. He’s lost all that but he’s lost his morals as well.”

Mor had smiled at that - she seriously doubted the deviant had ever had any morals in the first place, but she was glad she could still hear the resolve in Cælin’s voice. He hadn’t smiled in days. The dodger had been conspicuously absent from his features - replaced instead by blankness.

Mor was certain that the journey shouldn’t be taking as long as it was. A dread settled in the pit of her stomach as she realised that the wolves were keeping them in these conditions for as long as possible to soften them up, to break their spirits, for what was to come. Worse, she thought they might be succeeding.

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Eventually they arrived in port at Lyngvi City. The first the foxes knew of it was when the engines where stopped and the near unnoticed bass hum died away.

They were led off the ship in much the same way they had been led on - under armed guard, one cage at a time.

As Cælin and Mor disembarked from the ship a computer beeped to indicate that they had been scanned and matched against the boarding manifest. Behind the desk the clerk was guiding a particularly slow and frustrated looking wolven soldier through the process of filling out a euphemistically titled ‘spoilage’ form.

“No, no! Your department number here.” The clerk jabbed the paper, “The vulp’s number there.” Another jab, “The probable cause of death here. And then sign and date there!”

Cælin felt his blood boil but managed to keep walking and looking ahead.

Foxes lined the room, left to right, front to back, in twelve orderly rows facing forwards. The last row, the one nearest to the door Cælin and Mor’s group had entered through, stretch about a third of the length of the others. It was to this row that they were herded towards and eventually, with a little encouragement from their captors, they joined.

At the front uniformed wolves with hand scanners and clip boards escorted wolves in suits and other civilian attire from fox to fox. The wolves were more often than not in animated conversation.

Cælin watched the display in puzzlement until he saw one of the suited wolves shake hands with his uniformed compatriot and walk away accompanied by half a dozen reluctant foxes from the front line. Enlightenment dawned on the young tod - they we’re being sold. The soldiers were acting as sales men on behalf of the wolven government or military. The civilians were their new masters.

The foxes seemed to be being sold in an orderly manner. It seemed as if only the foxes in the front line could be purchased, once the front line was exhausted the guards would shout for the foxes to advance one row and the process would be repeated. New foxes were brought in to replenish the back rows as space became available.

Finally Cælin and Mor’s row stepped to the front. There were two disinterested suited wolves buying.

The first quickly selected two foxes which were taken out of the line and scanned. By listening to the ensuing formalities Cælin ascertained that going rate for a fox seemed to be about Z̩̍30,000, he wasn’t certain how he should feel about having such a high price tag. The wolf left with his purchases, the first to be selected from the line.

Their departure made the situation seem all the more real to Cælin. Exhaustion from the trip, the strangeness of the situation and the boredom of standing still and silently for a prolonged period had all made it easy for him to treat the goings on around him as some sort of strange, unreal waking dream. There was nothing unreal about his situation, he realised, the departing foxes were a cold slap in the face from reality. He was suddenly wide awake and completely aware of his situation.

His heart beat increased as panic welled up inside him. Beyond those doors was his future - no - he glanced at Mor- their future. The future they had been told about over two weeks previously. It was here. Now.

The second buyer was leaned against the front wall. His mobile phone pressed to one ear. A sales-soldier waited politely for him to finish his conversation. The other soldiers, without anything better to do, loitered around.

The buyer finished his conversation with a sharp but wasted nod of his head in obvious agreement with the furson on the other end of the connection. He pressed a button to terminate the call flipped the device shut and turned to address the soldier.

“We’ll take 24.” He said.

“Very good.” The salesman spoke “Any particular characteristics?”

“No. We’ll find work for them to do, whatever their condition.” Was the suit’s dismissive reply.

“Very well. You’re representing a corporate customer, yes?” The attendent confirmed his own question as he prattled on, “Have you got the paper work for…”

Cælin tuned them out. He looked up the line and started counting. ‘One’. ‘Two’. ‘Three’. He counted heads up to Mor, ‘twenty three’. A cold feeling grasped his stomach and squeezed hard, mixing with the panic he felt to create an emotion he had never felt before in his life and could not name. He looked at the tall fox next to him, ‘twenty four’. He looked down at himself. In self mocking, almost sardonic, despair he counted ‘twenty five’.

He looked up at Mor, mind racing a mile a minute. This couldn’t happen - he - they - had lost so much. He couldn’t start this new life without Mor. He just couldn’t. It was one loss too many. It was their future, damn it! Theirs!

She looked back to him. He could see the fear in her eyes and knew she had done her own head count. Seeing Mor in pain was all it took to make Cælin snap into action.

“Swap!” He hissed between clenched teeth to the fox standing beside him.

The lanky fox looked down at him, confused by the desperate command from the youngster.

“Swap.” Cælin insisted.

The tall fox shifted his gaze from Cælin to Mor on his other side. Understanding blossomed on his face. He turned back to Cælin and nodded sharply in agreement.

They waited until all eyes were elsewhere, then they moved.

The clatter of their quick movements rang out. Some of the idle attendants looked towards them.

‘Spraint!’ Cælin thought. They couldn’t have seen him move - they’d done it too quick.

He stood stock still muscles tense trying to still the shakes that were about to overcome him. His arms were plastered to his sides and his ears were plastered to the back of his skull. He looked straight ahead, trying not to make eye contact with the guards.

One of the idle attendants moved towards him.

‘Oh creator! This is it.’ he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remain calm, ‘I hope it’s painless.’

Then a clatter rang out to his right. He looked round. Mor scuffed her feet on the ground as if bored.

The attendant looked at her, “You!” He pointed, “Be silent!” Mor looked suitably chastised. The wolf satisfied he had found the source of the offending sound returned to doing nothing with his compatriots.

Cælin looked at Mor relief plainly written on his muzzle. He was immensely grateful for her quick thinking.

He looked to the fox he had swapped places with. He didn’t dare risk nodding his thanks now that the guards were looking their way, but he shared a meaningful glance which he hoped conveyed the same message.

They’d been only just in time. An attendant was now walking down the line scanning the first twenty four foxes. While he did so the suited wolf was finishing up the transaction with a hand shake.

“Have them brought outside.” The suited wolf ordered as he turned to leave, “I’ll get them to bring the truck ’round front.”

“Very good sir.” the first attendant replied. He turned to face the foxes “You heard the man. Move!”

The twenty four slaves were taken outside. The truck squawked its warnings as it backed up to the door. The suited wolf waved his hands to guide it back and then lifted his hands palms forward to halt it. The foxes were loaded into the trailer of a small truck with the help of the suited wolf, the driver, the attendants and the guards.

The door slammed behind the last of the slaves and then they were off.

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Mor blinked at the strong sun light. The journey in the truck had been mercifully short compared to the others she had undertaken recently. They’d been sat for only two hours, bouncing down a poorly maintained road, in a dark trailer. After everything else that had happened to her, it was downright comfortable.

But now they had stopped and the doors had been flung open. Two dozen anxious, apprehensive foxes cowered from the light and tried to peer beyond it. The contrast was too great though. All that could be seen was the silhouettes of wolves.

“Right. Out you come. Form a nice orderly line. Single file. And don’t try anything funny.”

Mor recognised he voice as belonging to the suited wolf.

Slowly the foxes did as they were told, filing out into the sun light.

Mor looked around. They were standing in a court yard. A large barred gate, which the truck had obviously pass through, stood strong and locked behind them. There was one large, two story, building in front of them - a visitors centre and offices Mor guessed. To the sides and behind the main building were rows of squat long huts - Mor correctly designated them as barracks. A large wall encircled and enclosed the buildings.

The buildings and wall were all clad with whitewashed quicklime. They gleamed in the sunlight and Mor realised that they were all brand new - constructed especially to hold them.

Finally, she was able to put a name to a name to her new home: compound.

She was unsurprised to find that the other silhouettes belonged to wolven guards. What was surprising was their uniforms - they weren’t military. They were armed and they were guards, but they weren’t soldiers. Private security was Mor’s assessment.

Whoever they were they shared at least one other characteristic with their military counterparts: impatience. They hurried the foxes along with shouts and threats of violence.

They were jogged into the main building. The reception was minimalist, there were white walls, the odd plant, sofa or sculpture and not much else, but it was carpeted.

As they made their way further into the structure though the carpeting gave way to tiles and the white walls were replaced with unfinished breeze block. Obviously the areas they were being lead to were not meant for VIPs.

Finally they were piled into a room which was lined with blue tiles from ceiling to floor. There was an arch beyond which was another room lined with the same tiles but with shower heads along the walls. A pile of cardboard boxes sat beside the arch. Apart from those details the rooms were empty.

One of the guards addressed them, “Right, you vulp scum, this is what is going to happen. You will strip. Leave you clothes and any other possessions on the floor in front of you. Then go to the next room and shower. Shampoo will be provided. When you are finished your uniforms will be provided to you. Move!”

With the last order the foxes shuffled into action. Mor knew that the wolves were deliberately making this situation more humiliating than it needed to be in order to grind their wills down just a little bit further than they already were.

She refused to let them do it. She stripped quickly and without shame or complaint. After all, they could only humiliate her if she let them.

She walked briskly towards the showers, one of the first to do so, her head held high. She stopped at the arch to receive her palm sized bottle of shampoo from a wolf who was handing them out from one of the boxes. She smiled and thanked him, looking him in the eye as she did so, as if there was nothing unusual about the situation at all.

The wolf was visibly put off balance by her passive defiance, but she had called their bluff. He was unable to punish her for refusing to be intimidated - not when she was also carrying out their orders to the letter.

“Use it all.” He opted to say instead.

“Thanks.” Mor brightly replied, “I’ve been looking forward to a shower for a long time.” She indicated her messed up fur.

The wolf’s eyes narrowed, “Don’t answer back.”

Mor knew this was the time to break off the game. He couldn’t punish her for bravery, but he could punish her for speaking out of turn now he had given that order.

She moved to a shower head and turned on the water. It was warm. She revelled in it. Just two weeks ago she would never have believed that something as simple as a hot shower could bring so much joy, but that was before she was denied access to one. Even if she hadn’t been purposefully ignoring the guards around her the hot water would have had the effect of insulating her from them. For a few brief, wonderful minutes the hot water running through her fur was all she was aware of.

Finally when her fur was well and truly waterlogged she turned off the flow and opened the bottle of shampoo.

There were more foxes in the shower area with her now, including Cælin. She was so fired up with defiance and righteousness that she didn’t even bother to sneak a look at his naked form.

Instead she lathered up her fur and let the chemicals work their magic on the dirt and grime she had collected over the past two weeks. The lather had a sharp smell, Mor guessed that while the shampoo itself was unscented it was mixed with a treatment for fleas and lice which wasn’t. She didn’t mind, she’d be quite happy to be rid of any unwanted passengers she’d picked up during her travels.

When she was satisfied the shampoo had done it’s job she turned the shower back on rinsed off. Dirty water sloshed off her along with clumps of loose fur and spots of grime.

When she was done she looked like a new fox.

She stopped the water again and turned on the fur drier. She was buffeted by a blast of hot air jetting down from above. In minutes she was dry, fresh and fluffy. She killed the dryer and walked back out of the showers.

While the foxes had been showering the wolves had scooped up all their clothing and possessions that had lain strewn across the floor and put them in a wheeled metal bin.

She handed the now empty shampoo bottle to the wolf at the arch. The wolf took the bottle, tossed it into the, now empty, box from which it came and proceeded to perform a full body search on her.

His hands lingered in places they shouldn’t. Mor bared her teeth at him.

“Hey vulp. Don’t get that way with me.” He leered, “You looked plenty happy about gettin’ naked before.”

So that was his game, thought Mor, rape as payback for her defiance earlier. He’d had a whole quarter of an hour to come up with that lame excuse. Mor threw a growl in to back up her snarl, she wasn’t going to let him intimidate her - now or ever.

The guard flinched, not getting the reaction he expected and fearing her teeth, he let go of the young vixen.

The next thing Mor felt was the slap he laid across her right cheek to cover up his fear.

“A word of advice slave.” He snarled at the child who had scared him in front of his comrades, “Learn your place. Not everyone will be as nice as I am.”

He took two bundles of cloth in cellophane and a pair of boots from another of the cardboard boxes and thrust them into her arms.

“Your uniform and a spare.” He explained in the same voice, “You’ll get a replacement uniform when the old one wears out. No more than one replacement per year so make it last. Now get!”

Mor walked out of arms reach of the irate guard and examined the packets of clothing. Black text printed on them informed her that they were ‘Child’s Uniform (Female) x 1. Size: Small’.

She ripped open one, saving the other pack for later, and extracted the contents: a pair of plain white panties, a cream coloured short sleeved shirt and a pair of grey dungarees which seemed to have a lot of adjustability in them. She put on the uniform.

The boots were ankle length black lace-ups made from imitation leather. They were numerous discrete buckles and straps for adjusting the fit. A removable and presumably washable liner was used instead of socks.  She sat on the floor and put the boots on.

Most of the foxes were exiting the showers now. It seemed that the body search was a required part of the process although the guard was now being careful to limit his molesting to the more vulnerable vixens. Mor’s blood boiled, but there was nothing she could do to help them.

Although she knew it shouldn’t the surprised look on Cælin’s face as he was frisked was so funny it almost made her laugh. He looked even more handsome clean and, now that she had come though the ordeal of showering, she took the time to get an eyeful of the young tod’s nude form.

Eventually he noticed her looking. His ear tips turned beet red and he turned away from her. ‘Key-yew-tuh!’, was Mor’s only thought.

Clean fur and successful defiance towards her new masters had improved her spirits considerably. She knew the rest of her life was going to be an uphill battle but she felt ready to meet it and tackle it head on.

She smirked.  If a shower had refreshed her that much, she mused sardonically, she should be ready to take on the entire wolven army bare handed after a good nights sleep and a warm dinner. Now, where could she find those?

Eventually all the foxes were dressed and they were lead away again. Cælin caught up with Mor as they left the room and walked behind her in the line. Talking wasn’t permitted, but he didn’t look in a particularly talkative mood anyway. He hadn’t stopped blushing since he caught Mor eyeing him up.

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From the showers they had been taken outside again by a back entrance. They were led around the barracks, their path weaved an intricate pattern in and out between the huts. At each barrack the group of foxes and wolves halted.

The lead guard, a particularly nasty looking wolf with a belly and about twenty years on his subordinates, would take the front five foxes from the line into the building, return a minute or two later and give the order to “March on!”

Seeing as they had been among the first in and out of the showers, Cælin and Mor were quite near the front of the line and didn’t have to wait long for their turn.

They were roughly shoved inside, along with a fox who was in front of them and two others who were behind, by the lead guard.

The interior was Spartan in the true sense. Unlike the expensive minimalism of the main building, the barracks were truly stripped to their bare essentials.

There were 5 rows of bunks in the barrack to bed about fifty foxes. Beyond the bunks, on the far wall, there were two open shower stalls, two sinks, a washing machine and a toilet.

Apart from the foxes and their captor the barrack was currently empty.

“Right you vulp bastards.” The overweight wolf began at a bellow, “Listen good ’cause your only going to hear this once. You are now property of RedstaffInc. You do not leave this building unless you are ordered to. Tomorrow you will be assigned duties. The facilities in this room are provided for your use. And you will use them. Redstaff is a new venture and its image is very important. If any of you step outside that door with less than perfect uniforms or fur you will regret it. Sort out the details yourselves. If you have any questions I don’t want to hear them.”

The wolf span on one heel and marched out the door, leaving the foxes to their own devices.

A tod with amber eyes was the first to break the silence, “So much for welcome.” He muttered under his breath.

Mor and the other foxes glared at him.

Cælin was lost in his own thoughts. The barrack had signs it was already occupied, over half the beds had been slept in and a washing line with the grey and cream uniforms draped over it stretched across the middle. The other slaves were obviously still working.

He turned to face the other, still-agitated, foxes.

“Chill it.” He berated them, “We’re all in the same mess, we’re all in this together. We can’t afford to have any divisions. We’re all brothers and sisters here.”

Amber-eyes snorted derisively, “Brothers and sisters? Yeah right!”

“Brothers and sisters.” Cælin, reiterated, “We’re all foxes. That makes us kindred.”

“Quit living in your dream world kit. There’s no hope for us. If we stand against the wolves alone then we’ll fall alone. If we stand against them together then we’ll fall together. We lost. Simple as. It’s every fox for themselves now.” The amber eyed fox walked to the far side of the room and picked a bed to lay on, “The sooner you wake up and realise that the better.”

Cælin grit his teeth. He found the fox’s attitude to be abrasive and was about to let him know exactly what he thought of it when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

The hand was too large to be Mor’s. He looked up at the figure towering over him. It was one of the foxes who had been standing behind them in the line.

He was tall, very tall. It wasn’t just the shortness that came with Cælin’s youth which made the fox tower over him. This fox was six foot something - an abnormality in a race who averaged foot foot three. His frame had muscles to match his height. He wasn’t a body builder, but his toned body clearly took some work. Confidence, born from strength, seemed to envelop him.

Cælin looked down at the meaty hand resting on his shoulder. He had a vision of the tall fox effortlessly and nonchalantly crushing his skull using only that hand.

“Don’t look so worried.” The giant drawled, “Me n’ my brother agree with you kit.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Cælin replied making what he thought was the understatement of the century.

Cælin looked beyond the fox to the one he had called his brother. He sat on the edge of one of the beds, shivering in obvious fear, with hands clasped together in his lap and his head bowed. Apart the difference in attitude they seemed to be identical.

He looked back to the fox standing over him. “I’m Cælin and that’s Mor…”

“Hello.” Mor interjected with a wave.

“…I take it you two are twi…”

“Triplets.” The giant interjected, “I’m Alyn and that’s my little brother by 10 minutes Eoin.”

Eoin made a half hearted wave, clearly he was shyer than Alyn.

The four sat down to tell each other their stories.

Alyn and Eoin’s brother, the eldest of the three, had been standing behind them in the line it turned out and had presumably been placed in which ever barrack the line had visited next.

The triplets had been raised in a very religious house hold. Although Cælin and Mor were both irreligious they found the brother’s views on life to be positive and upbeat even if they weren’t terribly realistic. Alyn especially seemed to have limitless faith that everything would turn out all right in the end.

Although he was clearly a true believer, Eoin seemed unable to stop worrying. They couldn’t talk for more than five minutes without Eoin panicking about how his missing brother was doing or what was going to happen to them. Alyn’s encouragements that the creator god wouldn’t want his children to be hurt or that the fox god would be looking over them or that they needed to draw strength from of the memories of the martyred spirits failed to reassure him. Finally Eoin snapped.

He jumped to his feet, “I’m going to make a run for it. They won’t stop me.” He continued wild-eyed, “Once we reach the outside there’s no way they’ll catch us.”

“No!” Cælinlunged for the fear struck fox but was swatted away by the much stronger tod and landed hard on his rump.

Eoin evaded his brother and Mor and ran out the door like a shot.

He didn’t get far. Ten seconds hadn’t passed before a loud snap and a crunching noise were heard from the outside. The wolven guard who had broken Eoin’s muzzle didn’t even bother coming fully inside the hut, instead opting to hurl the semi-concious fox across the threshold and trusting actions to speak louder than words.

Alyn, Cælin and Mor were around the unfortunate instantly. They made sure that he was safe to move and that he wasn’t about to die on them. Then between them they managed to heave him onto the nearest bunk. Supplies were scarce, in the end all they could do for him was apply pressure to the areas where he was bleeding with a pair of boxers taken from the washing line and soaked in one of the sinks.

They asked the amber-eyed fox to help but he simply snorted and rolled over in his bunk so his back was turned to them.

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The foxes were more or less silent from that point on. Eoin’s broken muzzle left him with no choice in the matter, the amber-eyed fox refused to acknowledge anyone else and the other didn’t feel like talking.

It was a few hours later that the other slaves started to filter in to the barracks.

They were tired, dirty and somewhat surprisingly, for a group deprived of their liberty, jovial. It wasn’t a loud raucous joviality, more a subdued undercurrent. Jokes were exchanged, tall tales swapped, friends discussed the past day or better times or hopes they held for the future. It seemed that however bad the situation was there was only so much self pity a person could take. These foxes were clearly oppressed and abused - what’s more they knew it - but they still seemed to be able to smile.

Cælin found himself hoping that he would be able to truly smile again sometime soon. Apart from the brave face he had put on for Mor and the other foxes he hadn’t smiled in ages. His feelings for Mor excepted, hadn’t felt much of anything except anger since his family was killed. A spontaneous smile would be heaven itself to him at this point.

Cælin watched the foxes as they returned from their toils in clumps of twos to tens. Their staggered arrivals and the range of smells and dirts that adorned them told Cælin that they hadn’t all been working in the same place. Obviously their ‘duties’ were varied.

As the exhausted but upbeat foxes returned for the night they introduced themselves to the newcomers. There were commiserations from all for Eoin and the owner of the underwear co opted as a bandage said that no apologies were necessary for their theft even though Alyn insisted on giving him his spare pair in their place.

None of the foxes talked to them for long. Although they were very friendly and made the new arrivals feel very welcome, they were very tired and most had been looking forward to their turn in the showers.

Mor went off to talk some more with some of the vixen slaves, they seemed to have hit it off immediately and were talking as though they had known each other for years. ‘Solidarity among sisters.’ Cælin mused to himself.

One of the slaves, a stout tod in his forties was sitting on a bunk talking with the antisocial, amber-eyed fox. They were too far away to be heard over the chatter of the other foxes, but the amber-eyed fox pointed at Cælin at one point and the stout fox followed his gesture.

The round fox put his hand on his knees, stood up with a little effort and made his way towards Cælin. As he approached Cælin got a better look at him. He looked like a very fatherly sort, in fact he reminded Cælin of someone, perhaps a long forgotten uncle he had met once when he was a younger.

“I’ve been speaking to Derwynn about you.” He said once he was face to face with Cælin. His voice was as fatherly as his demeanour.

“Derwynn?” Cælin made it a question.

The order tod’s eyes showed puzzlement, “The tod over there.” He pointed to the antisocial fox who was ignoring them again.

“Oh, amber eyes. That’s his name is it?” Cælin replied, “I’m Cælin by the way.” He offered his hand.

“Davian. Pleased to meet you young sir.” He took Cælin’s hand and shook it firmly. “Derwynn says you think all foxes are kindred.”

“I do.” Cælin answered with conviction, “And I hope you do too.”

“Oh. I do. I do.” The older fox held his hands up palms forward to appease the youngster. “In fact,” he drew nearer to the younger fox and teatrically stage whispered in his ear, “I’m the head of the foxen resistance for this hut. And if you are as fired up as think you are I would like you to join us.”

Cælin need no time to consider the offer, “Yes.” He replied without hesitation.

“Good, good.” The elder fox said, “Glad to have you on board Cælin.”

There was a clatter at the door and two wolves walked in with a young tod in tow. All conversation died away at once.

“Ay up, lad.” Davian whispered to Cælin, “Feeding time.”

The fox boy pushed a cart into the barrack. Davian stood up and met him half way. Silently the boy handed Davian a handful of plastic plates and a selection of shrink wrapped rations. Davian put them down on a bunk and picked up another pile of plastic plates which he handed to the boy in return.

The whole ritual was done in complete silence under the watchful eyes of the wolven guards, the other foxes and Cælin. The boy was quite possibly the prettiest he had ever seen. He had a round cherub’s face with a fringe of head fur which came down to just above his eyes. Even Cælin who had never swung that way was a little effected by his beauty.

Then the boy turned to leave and Cælin got a look at the other side of his face. His left eye was black and swollen all the more prominent because it marred such beauty. The wolves followed the tod out the door.

“All right lads…” Davian shouted.

“And ladettes!” A vixen’s voice called out from crowd.

“…and ladettes,” Davian corrected himself, “lets eat!”

There were no objections to that statement and, if the roar that went up from the assembled foxes was any indication, much agreement.

Davian walked around the hut handing out plates and rations. He walked up and down the isles tossing food when the recipient was out of reach, handing it over when they came to meet him. Occasionally he would share a neighbourly word with them. Food made the foxes’ spirits high. Mealtime was obviously the highlight of the day.

When Davian reached Cælin again he had just three plates and three ration packs left. He handed one of each to Cælin and another set to Mor who had just rejoined him and kept the last for himself.

Cælin gestured at the bunk, inviting Davian to sit with them. “Mor This is Davian.” He did the introductions in reverse, “Davian, Mor.” He turned back to Mor “Davianis the head of the local resistance, we joined five minutes ago.”

Mor raised an eyebrow at that but remained silent.

“Pleased to meet you little lady.” Davian took her hand, “Glad to have you with us.”

“Likewise Mr Davian.” Morreplied.

They tore into their meals.

“Who was that fox who was delivering the food?” Cælin asked between mouthfuls.

“One of the privileged.” Davian replied.

“Privileged?” Mor got the question out before Cælin.

“Mmm. ‘Trustworthy’ slaves. Snitches mostly.” Davian expounded, “The wolves in charge of this place get to pick personal servants.” The disgust in his voice for both snitches and wolves was plain, “I’m sure Derwynn will be joining their ranks soon enough.”

“Derwynn?” Mor prompted.

“Old amber eyes, over there.” Cælin explained for her benefit, jerking his head in the appropriate direction, “So that tod was a snitch then?” he asked Davian, something didn’t about the situation didn’t add up for him.

Davian was surprised out of his disgust, “What him? Doubt it.”, he continued with pity in his voice, “Snitches mostly…But some are picked because they’re too pretty.”

Mor shuddered at that, her own recent escape from rape still fresh in her mind.

Mor decided to change the topic, “What do the wolves want with us?”

Davian looked at her strangely, “Slavery. Surely you’ve worked that out already?” He asked.

“I got that.” She said, slightly hurt by the implied insult, “But what do these particular wolves want with us?”

“Ahhh. I see.” Understanding flowered on Davian’s features, he continued in a mock officious voice, “RedstaffInc is the premier supplier of corporate, municipal and industrial workforce solutions.”, then sarcasm gave way to cold honesty, “They sell our labour. Rent us out to whoever needs unskilled labour.”

“I figured it was something like that.” Cælin said.

“But…Wait a minute.” Mor spluttered, “If Redstaff bought us off the army.”

“Yes.” Davian said, meaning equal parts ‘go on’ and ‘that’s right’.

“And Redstaff are planning to make a profit off us.” She continued.

“That’s what companies normally do.” Davian agreed, “At least the more successful ones do.”

“Then their customers are the ones paying for the war.”

“Well their customers’ customers.” Cælin said thoughtfully, considering what she had said, “They are industrial, municipal and corporate suppliers remember. They all like to turn a profit too.”

“Never mind that!” Mor said, “The wolf on the street is the one who foots the bill for the war in the end. A full scale war must have cost an absolute fortune. Don’t they care?” her voice was full of disbelief, “I mean I know they don’t give a damn about us. But what about their bank balances? Haven’t they noticed?”

“Of course not.” Davian explained, “Their government has been telling them for years that all their problems are caused by foxes. They made a tax cut to coincide with the fall of our nations. That’s all the proof the wolven public needs that we were the cause of all their woes. This government has made itself out to be the saviour of wolfkind. Their popularity is the highest of any government in the last three hundred years.”

“How can they cut taxes after a war?” Cælin demanded, “How are they going to…”

Davian smiled a macaber smile “Cælin, the army, by which I really mean the government, has already recouped all it’s financial losses three times over by selling slaves. Ten billion foxes go a long way. They can afford to make a tiny symbolic tax cut. And the average wolf on the street will never know that it’s going to cost them more in the long run.”

Cælin was almost speechless, “That’s…”

“Deceptive? Underhanded? Deceitful?”, Davian offered.

“Efficient.” Mor finally offered, her face blank from the shock revelation.    Davian finished his plate and stood up to leave. “You’re smart kids - you see the big picture. That’s more than can be said for some two or three times your age. Get some sleep. You have a long day tomorrow. Try not to worry so much about the past. What’s happened has happened. You’ve got to keep moving forward.”

“Night Davian.” Cælin said numbly as Davian walked off.

He shuffled closer to Mor, hoping to alleviate the sudden sense of smallness and powerlessness that had come over him. His head swam with all the new information he had just learnt. Deciding that very little of it was immediately useful to him he tried to put it out of his mind. He would take Davian’s advice and try to live more in the present and the future than the past.

They ate the remainder of their food, knees touching, both feeling better for the other’s presence.

When they were finished Cælin held his plastic plate and asked, “What do we do with these?”

“Ah well,” Mor began in a brighter mood, “while you were playing secret agent with DavianI was busy sorting out the practical stuff.”

She took his plate and hers and took them over to a pile in the corner which was hidden from their vantage point. “They go here.” She explained.

“I’ve also found out about the rotas for the showers and the washing,” she carried on with out breaking stride, “and I’ve got us a bunk.” She took his hand in hers and pulled him with her to the aforementioned bed.

“One bunk?” he protested.

“You don’t want to sleep with me?” She asked mock hurt.

“I didn’t say that but…” Cælin stammered.

“I don’t want sex.” All the play left Mor’s voice but not the affection, “Not tonight and not for a long time. But I do want you. Cælin be mine.”

Cælin understood that in that moment something deeper passed between them. His young vocabulary didn’t have the words to describe what the something was, but he knew that in this moment he could be completely honest and open with her in a way that he had never been with anyone else, that he could share a part of himself with her without fear or apprehension or worry.

“Mor,” he looked her in the eyes, his free hand touching her arm, “I love you.” And he was utterly sincere.

They kissed.

And then the moment was over and Mor stepped back out of his embrace.

A wicked glint appeared in her eye, “Besides,” she said, “You wear your birthday suit very well.”

Cælin’s ears bushed bright red for the second time that day. He refused to strip down further than his boxer shorts that night.

“Shame…” Mor yawned as they lay in bed, her arms wrapped around him, her body spooned to his, “You’ve got a nice tush.”

[center][b]❖ ❖ ❖[/b][/center]

A factory had placed an order with Redstaff. It seemed that many of their former floor workers had been killed in the war, or had decided to remain in the army, or had simply not returned after being discharged. They had decided to fill the vacancies with foxes.

Cælin and Mor were among those selected to fulfil the contract.

It was gruelling, messy, hard physical work. The vast majority of the work on the floor was done by machines. The empty positions were those that were deemed too trivial to automate. Cleaning, loading and unloading the conveyor belts, box pushing, repairing the machinery were all tasks the foxes were assigned.

The factory never stopped so the work was done in shifts. At any hour day or night foxes could be seen scurrying around the floor. All intent on some job, whether it was sweeping the areas under the cutting machines, or pushing a trolley loaded with the finished product ready to ship out to customers, or straining to tighten a bolt on one of the welding arms in an effort to keep them running one more day and avoid punishment.

All the work was overseen from an overhead walkway by a wolven foreman and four guards with stun guns and sub machine guns. The foxes were very careful to make themselves look busy after the first half dozen foxes were punished for slacking - the stun gun was an unpleasant but effective way to ensure productivity. None of them were even contemplating doing anything which would warrant the machine guns.

It was not the worst work, Cælin reflected, Eoin had been assigned to the municipal water company and now spent his days picking through sewage. Cælin was certain that Eoin had received the job as a result of his disobedience on their first day.

‘There’s a pattern forming here,’ Cælin allowed some sarcasm to taint his thoughts, ‘It seems that we’re doing all the unpleasant work around here.’ Cælin wasn’t surprised that the wolves were giving all their undesirable jobs to their slaves. After all what else were slaves for?

There was an interesting consequence of that policy Cælin hadn’t considered though. No wolf would work alongside a fox or even do the same job as a fox. Since foxes were given ‘menial’ work any job they did was tarnished by association. For a wolf to have a fox as a co-worker would be to label the wolf’s work as unimportant and insignificant.

Within weeks of the foxes starting, the factory floor had emptied of the few remaining wolves. They all received promotions or went on to find work at other factories and RedstaffInc had filled the shortfall with more foxes.

Now the factory floor was run by foxes. Cælin had watched the situation develop dispassionately. As far as he was concerned events could not be unfolding better. To him there was only one word which mattered.

‘Soon…’

