Caveat Fuzzy Read online

  “Oh, the usual,” Morgan said. “Abuse of office, failure to pay the proper tribute to the king…there are a couple of warnings first, of course…one princedom tried to reinstall the marital night prerogative….”

  “What’s that?” Gus asked.

  “That’s where a landholding nobleman gets to have intimate relations with a common woman on her wedding night,” Jack explained.

  “So?”

  “The common woman isn’t his wife,” clarified Morgan. “The king at that time was something of a prude and decided to call it rape. The execution was attended by all the land-bearing nobles of that princedom by royal decree.”

  Jack noted the chief prosecutor’s reaction and added, “What they do to common rapists is even more extreme, and the offender usually lives to regret it…at least for a little while. Well, time for me to take care of a few things, and then get back to the res. I’ll bet my desk is buried under a ton of paperwork by now.”

  “Hasn’t Gerd been picking up the slack in your absence?”

  “I’m afraid not, Gus. Gerd is working with the CZC to pick apart that rocket found in Northern Beta. I think I’ll have to ask for a temporary assistant or two until he gets back. George Lunt has been running things the last month or so, and Ruth pitches in when she can, but George has his own work to attend to so I don’t imagine he did more than the bare minimum necessary to keep things running. Even that would be a lot to expect considering all he’s had to deal with lately. I’ve heard that NPF has run up quite a bit of overtime in the last six weeks.”

  “Somehow word got out that those illegal prospectors who got themselves blown up found a super-rich deposit of sunstones or diamonds or some other mineral wealth as well as the rocket. The place is crawling with people trying to get rich overnight,” Morgan explained. “Victor sent over some of his own security men to help the Native Protection Force keep a lid on the excavation site.”

  “That just shows how smart Grego is,” Gus observed. “If there are sunstones and they get snatched up by the wrong people, they could damage the market prices.”

  “On top of that, every amateur archaeologist on the planet is trying to find another rocket or anything else that might prove that Fuzzies came from outer space,” Jack added. “Most have sense enough to apply for a permit, but lack the patience to wait for the approval. Ben had the trespassing fines doubled twice over to discourage that sort of thing. Too bad a lot of people have more money than sense.”

  “Well, look at the upside,” Gus said. “The treasury will be getting fat on fines and maybe confiscated assets used in furtherance of the crime.”

  “At the cost of disturbing a lot of Fuzzies,” finished Jack irritably.

  * * * * * * * * *

  “…and the verdict is in; guilty on all counts!”

  The man on the screen, ‘Spin’ Wheeler, was a local celebrity and the talk show host of Spinning Zarathustra until coming to work one day in a state of inebriation. Miguel Kourland fired Spin and replaced his segment with Tuning in with Tuning. Spin quickly found work at B.I.N. with his new show Spinning Wheels, where he made a new reputation attacking the Charterless Zarathustra Company and the colonial government.

  “Next Tuesday, Judge Janiver will impose the death penalty on the convicted brain donors, and well he should. Slavery is a nasty business to say the least. But how should the punishment be administered? Back in the bad old days, convicts were put down by lethal injection, like a stray dog. This was less of a deterrent than hoped for. Today, on colony planets, a bullet in the back of the head is the preferred method of execution. But why not give these vile villains a more spectacular, and dare I say, entertaining demise? My sources tell me that the Colonial Governor is considering a televised firing squad. Now, as you know, I hate to agree with anybody in the government about anything, but I have to admit that he has something, here. But why not…?”

  Ben Rainsford pressed a button on his desk and the screen went dark. “Spin Wheeler agrees with me. Clearly, I’ve been in this job for too long when a Khooghra like that agrees with me.”

  Colonial Marshal Max Fane shrugged and said, “Why not hold a lottery?”

  Ben stubbed out his cigarette, then turned to Max. “Victor suggested that to shore up some funds against future expenses,” started the Colonial Governor, thinking that Max was changing the subject. The last several weeks had been hard on Ben and his brain wasn’t packing a full clip at times.

  “No, sir, I mean for the privilege of being on the firing squad,” explained Colonial Marshal Max Fane. “People buy a ticket for, oh, say, a sol apiece, and the winners get to be on the line to shoot the Fuzzy slavers. They can buy as many tickets as they want. Then we have a big drawing and select our shooters. It will be a real feast day in Mallorysport, I think.”

  Ben Rainsford mulled that over. “Not a bad idea, really, if a bit old-fashioned.”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Old-fashioned? Well, you should hear about executions on other worlds. On Uller they take a criminal, cut off his forelimbs, crack open his silicon shell and tie him down over a k’gakkma nest. Think of it as being fed to army ants the size of cockroaches. On Yggdrasil the Khooghras tie the offender onto a spit over a fire pit and slow cook the poor bastard.”

  This was a new one on Ben. He tried to imagine what a Khooghra would consider a crime and failed. “What do they do with the body afterwards?”

  “Eat it, of course.”

  I should have seen that one coming, thought Ben. “All right, say we do this: do we shoot them one at a time, or in groups, or all at once? Does one lottery ticket get you a go at the first firing order, or all of them?”

  “Hmm…I would go one at a time, one ticket per firing order, five shooters per order,” Max said. “We would sell more tickets that way and more people would get a shot, in a manner of speaking, at the firing line. The show will last longer, too. Mr. Grego should like that.”

  Ben nodded. “Plus we have to go to him for the lottery print run. Is there an independent printer we could use? I’ve been criticized in the media for giving too much business to the CZC.”

  Max shook his head. “I’m sure Mr. Grego’s crew could do the job faster and cheaper than any Mom & Pop operation in Mallorysport…”

  “They could, but that’s not the point,” Ben said. “On any other world a government contract would be bid on, and the lowest bidder with quality merchandise would get the contract. On Zarathustra nobody can compete with the CZC for anything. So, I’ll have to make some concessions to the situation and let some non-company contracts go out here and there. Like the paper works for the lottery tickets. We have to spread the wealth a bit or people will keep thinking that the colonial government is in bed with the CZC.”

  Ben’s desk screen activated and his secretary, Francine M’bata, informed him that the Holloways were asking to see him. “Send them in, Fran.”

  Jack and Morgan entered and shook hands with Ben and Max. “You two must have come here straight from the trial.” Ben waved his head in the direction of his wall-mounted viewscreen. “I just got the word; guilty on all charges.”

  “Gus made it sound like it was the easiest trial he ever won,” Jack said with a smile.

  Max Fane snorted. “No disrespect to Mr. Brannhard or his competence as an attorney, but I would have to say that a brain-damaged Khooghra couldn’t have failed to secure a guilty verdict.”

  Jack laughed, then clutched his chest. While in no real danger, he was still sore where the surgeons installed his new heart and lung. The other men pretended not to notice since Jack ‘didn’t want to be fussed over like a damned invalid child.’ When the pain subsided, Jack said, “Gus would agree, Max. So, Ben, I hear you’re thinking about setting up a firing squad for these bastards.”

  “Max and I were just discussing that.” Ben explained Max’s idea for the lottery.

  “Put me down for 1,000 tickets per firing order,” Morgan said. “I want another piece of these kleetook’na.�
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  Jack explained that a kleetook was a small bloodsucking mammal, roughly half the size of a Terran field mouse that survived by attaching itself to a larger animal and drinking its blood like a giant tick. Unchecked, the afflicted animal would grow weak and die within a Freyan month, depending on its size. Kleetook’na was the pluralized form in Freyan.

  Jack changed the topic of discussion to that of assistants; namely, he wanted a couple. “I’ll be a few weeks just getting out of this damned chair. I’ll need somebody who can reach the top drawers of the file cabinet.” The fact that the hover-chair could float up and down was tactfully ignored.

  “Actually, Jack, I already discussed this with Gerd,” Ben said. “He said Ruth is sending out somebody tomorrow, but you will need a second assistant given the amount of paperwork that has piled up in your absence. I’ll put an ad in the Zarathustra Times for a temp.”

  Now who would Ruth have thought to send over? Jack asked himself. “Well, that’s great, Ben. Tell you what; I have to check in with the doc, then buy a new power cartridge for my aircar before I fly back to Beta. I’ve had it with the recharger and that antique solar unit. How about we get together at cocktail time before I head back? Relax, Morgan, I promise to behave and stick to that tea you’ve been pouring into me.”

  Morgan assumed a look of innocence and winked at Little Fuzzy, who smiled and winked back. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t have to. I know how much stock a Freyan of character puts on a Blood Oath.” Jack ruffled Little Fuzzy’s fur. “Especially with the oath-ee watching.” Jack turned back to Ben. “Look, I know you and Morgan have some business to discuss, so I’ll mosey on over to the hospital while you two talk. See you for cocktails, Ben?”

  “How is 1700 for you?”

  “Perfect. See you then.” Jack and Ben shook hands, and then he turned his chair around and headed for the door.

  “I’ll walk you out, Commissioner,” Max Fane said, as he nodded to the governor.

  As soon as the door closed behind the two men, Morgan wasted no time getting down to brass tacks. “Governor, I am prepared to pay fifty million sols for Epsilon Continent, plus cover the leaseback fees owed to the Charterless Zarathustra Company. I’ve cleared it with Victor and he has no objection to the sale.”

  Fifty million sols was a lot of money by anybody’s definition, but Epsilon was just over eight million square kilometers. “What exactly do you need an entire continent for? That’s a bit extravagant even if you do have more money than Ghu.”

  “For a new settlement. I have about two thousand people and some…exotic animals that need a home and I want them set up out of the way of any interference. And for the record, it’s not just me paying for this.”

  “Have you discovered a new alien species?” As a xenonaturalist, Ben was very interested in any new life-forms. As the governor of Zarathustra he was concerned about the legality of transplanting those life-forms into the local ecosystem. “Is the Federation aware of what you are doing?”

  “Aware of and in support. In fact, you’ll earn some good will from the Federation if you help me with this.”

  Ben leaned back in his seat to think for a moment. “Good will isn’t something I worry about, really. It was the Federation that stuck me with this job in the first place. Ah, hell, I’ll talk this over with Victor and Commodore Napier and see what they think. However, I will want the full story on who these people are and why they need to be relocated before I give the final okay. When will they be here?”

  “In nine days, give or take. Everything was prearranged before I left Magni on my way here.”

  Magni? Ben had heard of it: a planet with 1.21 gravity and no indigenous sapient life-forms. It was originally discovered by two separate exploration companies based on Thor and now owned by the Chartered Magni Cooperative. Their primary source of income was derived from iron and nickel mining and collapsium production. The descendants of the original colonists were said to be built like brick walls on steroids.

  “These people are from Magni?”

  Morgan was evasive. “Yes and no. I’ll have to explain after they arrive or you won’t believe me. I’ll also have to ask that you keep this quiet. Jack, Gus, Victor, the Commodore and maybe Marshal Fane will be the only people in the loop…at least initially. Do we have a deal?”

  Ben thought hard before answering. The possibility of meeting a new race of aliens made for a pretty big carrot to the governor. “After I meet these new settlers and hear their story. If it all washes, then you have a deal. If not, I may have to send them packing.”

  Morgan smiled. “I very much doubt it will come to that.”

  “Do these…people…have any marketable skills? This government doesn’t need a bunch of welfare cases.”

  “These are all trained farmers and miners. They can fend for themselves well enough. And they will be quite comfortable in the cooler climate of Epsilon Continent.”

  Miners? Well, that made sense coming from Magni, but Magni orbited a B2 sun making its mean temperature somewhat higher than Zarathustra’s even though its orbit was forty percent further from its primary. Ben said as much.

  “It gets pretty chilly underground, actually. The core temperature of Magni is much lower than most inhabitable planets. Oh, and you won’t need to place that ad for Jack. I think I know somebody who will make a great assistant….”

  II

  Federation medicine had made tremendous leaps in the last several hundred years. Devices that were inexpensive and readily available for home use could identify almost any ailment or condition a person could be suffering from, although one thing hadn’t changed significantly since the days before the discovery of penicillin—blood still needed to be drawn.

  Akira Hsu O’Barre stared at the tiny medical device she had picked up from the apothecary. All she had to do was prick her finger on the almost invisible needle and the miniature machine would do the rest. Akira wasn’t squeamish about seeing her own blood, or afraid of the needle which was virtually painless to use. It was the potential results that she feared…results that could change her life.

  She quickly jammed the needle into her index finger and pulled it out. There was no pain or even any blood where she had stuck herself. Akira thought she might have missed until she noticed the countdown on the small readout. It took five seconds to get the results. Some models worked faster, but this brand boasted greater accuracy.

  Positive.

  Akira dropped the device on her night stand and sat on the edge of her bed almost in shock. Tears welled up in her eyes as she said softly to herself, “Oh, Ghu, what am I going to do now?”

  * * * * * * * * *

  Victor Grego sat back and mentally processed the request, no, demand he was just given. John Morgan Holloway had just marched in and stated that he would like one of the CZC employees to take an extended leave of absence to go to work for Jack Holloway.

  “Morgan, surely there are many qualified people who don’t work for the company….”

  Morgan waved that away. “It has to be Akira, Victor.”

  Grego stubbed out his cigarette and stared levelly at Morgan. He knew that the young man was involved with Miss O’Barre, and in all likelihood would marry her before too long. The rumor mill had gone into overdrive on that subject and there was even an office pool about when the nuptials would take place. So why the rush to yank her away from the company to put her to work for his father?

  “Have you cleared this with Miss O’Barre, Morgan?”

  “Out of respect, I felt I should clear it with you, first, Victor.”

  Out of respect? Well, Morgan was definitely respectful. “Hmm…I’ll tell you what; explain what Freyan custom this will satisfy and she’s all yours. Provided she chooses to go, of course. I’m not running an escort service, here.”

  Morgan smiled broadly. “I must be pretty transparent.”

  “Well, only to me and Jack, I think. Almost everything you do appears to b
e motivated by Freyan rules of conduct. Which isn’t a bad thing by the way, since you tend to behave yourself better than most Terrans I have known—if we discount your shooting one of my best friends.”

  Morgan winced, then nodded. “Tell you what, take a wild guess and I’ll let you know if you are warm or cold.”

  Grego thought for a moment: Akira working for Jack must satisfy some Freyan rule that would allow them to marry. He said as much.

  “Good call, Victor. For Freyan nobility to marry below their station, the woman has to prove herself to the noble’s family. Oddly, even to me, the family isn’t supposed to know that she is proving anything. I have a Tri-D disk of a theatrical production where that is the central plot. The gist is this; Jack has to see Akira as a woman of value without knowing that I intend to take her as a wife.”

  Grego made a mental note to get in on the pool. “What does Akira think about this? For that matter, why would Jack have a problem with her? He doesn’t stick his nose into other people’s business, as a rule.”

  “Akira doesn’t know. If Jack rejects her I don’t want her to know that I was going to ask her, um, for her hand.”

  Grego nodded. “That is the correct, if old-fashioned, idiom.”

  “There is also the possibility that Akira won’t like Jack, either.”

  Not like good old lovable, peaceable Jack Holloway? Grego thought. He suppressed the urge to laugh. Almost everybody who didn’t like Jack was either dead or skipped planet. Jack was an honest, plain-spoken man who didn’t screw people over. People less honest tended to get on his bad side rather quickly, though. “I very much doubt that will be a problem, though I do see your point. Fine. I’ll approve the leave of absence as long as you don’t twist her arm too hard. She still has a couple of years left on her contract with the CZC, I think, unless she plans to pay off the balance.”

  “I offered to do that for her,” Morgan said as he shook his head. “She refused. ‘A contract is a contract’ she said. The Company held up to its end, so she intends to hold up hers.”