Caveat Fuzzy

by Wolfgang Diehr

  John Morgan Holloway the Lesser and Akira Hsu O’Barre sat at a table near the dance floor. Unconsciously, the couple took the same table they had occupied two months earlier. During Jack Holloway’s convalescence the pair had had few opportunities to spend time together. The younger Holloway had to do some recovering as well. Morgan intended to make it up to Akira.

  A cocktail waitress dressed in the archaic uniform popularized on Terra in First Century Pre-Atomic approached to take their orders. Like most of the service staff, she was hired in from Junktown.

  “Kin I take yer ordahs?”

  Morgan ordered a Freyan ale while Akira ordered a Three-Planets. The waitress rushed off to fill the order. While they waited the music changed to a First Century dance song.

  “Shattakk! What is that?”

  Akira concentrated on the music before answering. “It’s something called ‘disco music’ from the era before hyperspace travel. It pops, don’t you think?”

  Morgan shook his head in negation. “I prefer your symphony pieces. Say, why are Terrans always referencing First Century A.E. and earlier, but very little of what came after? I’ve gone through the libraries and found very little by way of new music or literature after that era.”

  “Didn’t you take history back in college? Well, I guess they wouldn’t cover this very thoroughly. After the Third World War most of the Northern Hemisphere was left a radioactive wasteland. Everybody, the survivors, I mean, migrated to the Southern Hemisphere. The population of Terra was cut almost in half.”

  “Yes, that much was covered at university. So?”

  “Well, a lot was lost during that time. Technology was set back decades in many areas, for example. Countries that had managed to accommodate the existing population suddenly found themselves inundated with refugees. These people needed to be housed, fed, their medical needs attended to. Medicine advanced faster than ever before, as did farming and artificial food production, like carniculture.

  “Other areas suffered. It was a struggle just to survive for many years. The entertainment industry had all but vanished completely. Fortunately, there were archives of music, movies, television, literature and some technology in government bunkers and private collections that survived the devastation of the war. Old movies and music, all in the public domain, filled the entertainment void for the next couple of centuries. Terra stabilized and started advancing in other areas a little at a time: collapsium, contra-gravity, the hyperspace drive and even artificial gravity. But progress was slow and there were very few people interested in creating new music or movies until around the Fourth Century A.E., and the less said about most of that the better. The same was true of television programs and live theater. Did you ever see those awful western films where they used Freyan oukrey in place of horses? Gah!”

  “Actually, I have. The oukrey seemed perfectly normal to me. It was the, uh, cowboys?—that seemed off to me. Why didn’t they use real horses? I’ve seen some on Terra, very much alive.”

  “It took a while to get their numbers up and they were protected by the world governments. Some breeds of horses are lost forever while others flourish, now. The Shetland pony is mostly gone, though some of the toy breeds are still around.”

  “Hmm…maybe I should arrange to have some horses brought in to Zarathustra. Other animals, too, like Terran chickens and cattle.”

  “I wouldn’t mind some turkey now and then,” Akira mused. “You had better check with Mr. Grego before you decide to play Old McDonald, though. Alien species have to be cleared before being imported.”

  “They do? Hmm…I had best speak with Governor Rainsfield about something…Oh, here come our drinks.”

  The waitress served the drinks, accepted her tip and quickly hustled off to the next customer. The Bitter End was famous for the speed at which it filled drinking orders.

  “A Three-Planets,” noted Morgan. “I’m not familiar with that one.”

  “It’s a concoction of 150 proof Terran rum, a half shot of Thoran nildin and a squirt of Lokian looehlaf,” Akira explained. “I can’t drink more than one or I’ll be down for the count. I doubt that there are ten people on Zarathustra that could drink more than three and still walk straight.”

  “Really? I’ll have to test that theory on Gus Brannhard. If it knocks him out, I won’t even think about trying it. How does it affect you?”

  Akira smiled. “It loosens me up and gives me a quick buzz, but I’ll have to stick with much weaker stuff afterwards. I don’t want to get too loose, especially before going to work for your dad.”

  Morgan feigned surprise. “You are starting work for my sire—er, father?”

  “Yes,” Akira nodded. She started to take a sip, then stopped and sniffed it instead, then nodded approvingly. “This is the only place on Zarathustra to get the mix just right. You can tell by the aroma that wafts up from it. Would you like to try it?”

  Morgan set down his ale, then took a careful sip of Akira’s drink. It didn’t seem very strong. “You said you were going to work for Jack. Are you leaving the Company?” Without thinking he took a gulp from the drink in his hand forgetting it was Akira’s. It was surprisingly good; tart from the nildin and the looehlaf covered the more aggressive flavor of the rum. Sheepishly, he returned the drink to Akira, who set it down.

  “No, just taking a leave of absence. Mr. Grego asked me to help out with Jack’s back-log of paperwork while he is recovering.” Akira tried to figure out whether Morgan was genuinely surprised or just putting on a façade. Try as she might, she couldn’t tell. “You wouldn’t have had something to do with my transfer to the res, would you?”

  “Me? I would have just hired on a full staff,” Morgan replied. “Say, that’s not a bad idea. Maybe a few people to do the cooking and cleaning while father is stuck in that hover-chair. It is a good thing Fuzzies don’t shed like dogs or it would really be a mess around there.” Morgan pulled a handheld device from a jacket pocket and spoke into it. The display read: HIRE HOUSEHOLD STAFF FOR JACK. He put the personal organizer back in the pocket. “Little Fuzzy will like that, I think. His Pappy Jack will have more time to play with him.”

  Morgan was deflecting, Akira decided. “Where will you get the staff?”

  “Hmm…can’t I just take out a want ad on Beta?”

  “Well, yes.” Akira fumbled for her purse, knocking over her drink. The automated table opened a six-inch hole in the middle where a small suction hose came out and sucked up the liquid in seconds. This was followed by a second apparatus that sprayed a cleaning solution over the spill site that was then soaked up by an arm with a heated cloth. The cleaning arms recessed back into the hole which sealed seamlessly.

  Morgan raised a hand to signal the waitress. When she arrived, Morgan tried to order a replacement for Akira’s spilled drink.

  “Oh, make it hot tea, instead. If I am this clumsy, already, I better not push my luck with more alcohol.”

  Morgan nodded to the cocktail waitress and away she went. “I didn’t think you drank all that much.”

  “Oh, well, it doesn’t take much with a Three-Planets.”

  Morgan accepted the explanation though he couldn’t recall if she had even taken a single sip.

  Akira extracted a device similar to Morgan’s from her purse and scrolled down the display. “Here it is. There is a temp agency in Junktown where you can hire people at low rates. The people there are so desperate for work they’ll relocate in a heartbeat to fill almost any position. I think you’ll find a decent cleaning and cooking staff there.”

  Morgan made a note of the agency, then returned to the previous subject. “So, when do you start working for my father?”

  “Tomorrow. Or at least that’s when I’ll be heading over.”

  “Tomorrow?” Morgan extracted his personal organizer a second time. He said something in Sosti that Akira took for a curse. “I’m getting my new portfolio card tomorrow, then I have to run over to Company House to have my balances transferred. I
f you can wait, I’ll fly you over to Beta myself.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Akira’s tea arrived and she blew on it to cool it off. “Whew—that’s hot. No, Betty wants to fly me over and meet Jack. I think she has a thing for older men.”

  Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Betty…oh! The woman you introduced me to the last time we were here. Hmm…I hope she dresses a little more conservatively before meeting him. He did just have heart surgery, you know.”

  “I’ll make sure she behaves,” Akira laughed. “Do you think she would make a good stepmother?”

  Morgan almost choked on his ale.

  VI

  Jeffrey “Small Eyes” Manson knew why he had been ‘volunteered’ by the other cons to test the collar scrambler, and it had nothing to do with his below-average height. While the others made a point that his sleight frame and short stature made it easier to slip away unnoticed by the guards, that was just an excuse to use him as a guinea pig, and Small Eyes knew it. The real reason was because he was convicted of molestation of a minor.

  Somehow, word had gotten out in the general population, probably a guard with kids of his own passed the word, and Small Eyes became the target of every “accident” in Prison House. Many convicts had wives and children and as such had no tolerance for those they considered a deviant. Even the name “Small Eyes” was prison lingo for a man with his proclivities. The other cons wanted him dead, and this way they wouldn’t get caught taking him out. However, it was made quite clear that the alternative was even less pleasant. The average lifespan of a child molester in prison was just slightly longer than that of a tin of extee-three at a Fuzzy picnic.

  Small Eyes approached the border of the pole array that kept the cons from trying to make a break for it. Going outside of the containment area meant sudden and violent death for anybody wearing the explosive collar. But Small Eyes had the scrambler that one of the others had cobbled together in the prison workshop. With the scrambler in place, the collar would, or rather, should, stop receiving the signal from the array of poles and instead accept a false signal that would keep the explosive mechanism dormant. At least, that was what he was told. Small Eyes more than half expected the collar to go off, removing his head in the process, as soon as he cleared the border. The only reason he was prepared to go through with it was the outside chance that the other cons were telling the truth; that, and the fact he knew what would happen to him if he went back without testing the scrambler. At least the collar would kill him quickly.

  It was decided that the best time to test the scrambler would be while the rocket was being hauled out on the barge. Everybody, inmates and guards, would be watching the rocket as it was lifted out of the crater and hauled away. It would also keep anyone from hearing the collar explode, thought Small Eyes wryly. Before stepping through, Small Eyes considered praying, though he suspected that any deity familiar with his past would not look kindly upon him.

  The convict stood at the border, indicated by a series of red beams that stretched from pole to pole, took a deep breath and started through the warning barrier. One step. Two steps. Three. He had cleared the poles and was still breathing. The scrambler worked! At this point Small Eyes was supposed to report back to the others about the success of the test, but the lure of freedom was too strong; he was out and planned on staying out. Small Eyes started running south in the hopes of crossing the res and getting to a settlement where he could steal some clothes.

  Fifty meters past the perimeter was a ten-meter high cliff face. He elected to go around instead of over the ridge that bordered the dig site as it would make him too visible. Besides, he wasn’t a good climber. When he saw that there were a few bushes with ripe berries, Small Eyes quickly plucked the fruit and smeared it on his yellow jumpsuit in the hopes of making himself less conspicuous. Several minutes of rubbing revealed that the treated fabric resisted discoloration. When that didn’t work, he tasted a few then spit them out. Not ripe, yet. Swearing blasphemously, he threw the berries onto the ground. Small Eyes was always hungry thanks to the giant Samoan, who often took most of his food. Forgetting the berries he proceeded through the bushes crouching low to stay hidden. After several long minutes Small Eyes worked his way to a path that allowed him to walk up to the top of the ridge without being seen from the dig site.

  While not an outdoorsman, Small Eyes had read about the native wildlife; bush goblins, goofers, harpies, zarabucks, veldbeests, zarawulves, tunnel worms and, worst of all, damnthings. It was several hundred miles to the nearest settlement off the res, and once he was discovered missing there would be a major search. He considered discarding the jumpsuit as the color made him too visible, then changed his mind since it was the only protection from the elements he had. The fabric was even resistant to tunnel worms that burrowed under the skin. Damnthings, being colorblind, were attracted by movement, not color, so the bright yellow wasn’t a problem there. He didn’t know what the zarawulves sensory apparatus was designed for, but they were on the endangered species list and unlikely to be a problem, while harpies were all but extinct on Beta Continent.

  At the top of the ridge were enough trees and brush to conceal his movements without hunching down, so Small Eyes picked up his pace. The goal was to get as far from the dig site as possible before evening headcount. Or it was, until Small Eyes spotted the Fuzzy.

  The common story was that Fuzzies were childlike, friendly and trusting. Their size and primitive weaponry made them almost completely harmless to adult humans.

  Childlike.

  They are not really children, thought Small Eyes, just like children, but it had been such a long time….

  * * * * * * * * *

  Runs Fast watched as the hat-zu’ka chewed the bark off of the tree trunk. He was almost close enough to use his spear thrower and kill the animal. Actually, he could launch the spear from a much farther distance, but his accuracy was not as good as the others in his clan, so he wanted to be close enough to ensure a clean kill.

  Finally, he was ready. He drew back his arm and took careful aim, then launched his spear. The spear caught the hat-zu’ka in the side just below its foreleg, killing it almost instantly. Runs Fast lived up to his name and quickly recovered his spear. Grabbing the dead hat-zu’ka by a hind leg, he started dragging it back to the others when he heard a scream. It was the voice of one of the people, he could tell. Runs Fast released his kill and ran towards the sound.

  A Koo-wen had seized Watches Clouds and was running away. It was the first Koo-wen Runs Fast had seen other than the one Red Fur kept as a prisoner. This Big One was not as tall as the other Koo-wen, and with less fur on top of the head. Though the Koo-wen was much larger, Runs Fast was quicker on his feet and ran ahead of it. Runs Fast was unsure if it was a male or female, though it did look different from the one back at the gathering place. Perhaps the females were shorter with less fur. But why take one of the People? Did it lose a child and want a replacement?

  A hat-zu’ka would sometimes do that, taking one of the young of another to replace one that had made dead. Or maybe the Koo-wen was going to eat Watches Clouds? No, that was a never done thing. Only gouru ate their own kind, not people, and the Big One was clearly some sort of people, though strange.

  Runs Fast stood in front of the Koo-wen and aimed his spear. “Stop! Let Watches Clouds go or I will use my spear,” he shouted in his ultra-sonic voice.

  The Koo-wen stopped and looked at the Fuzzy but didn’t release his captive. Runs Fast was unsure what to do next when the Big One lunged forward and tried to grab him. Runs Fast was too close to actually throw his spear, so he used it to stab the Koo-wen in its middle. The point failed to penetrate the strange not-fur of the Big One, but the surprise of the impact caused the Koo-wen to lose its grip on the squirming Watches Clouds. The Fuzzy ran as fast as she could, screaming for help while Runs Fast menaced the Koo-wen with his weapon.

  The Koo-wen saw his captive escape and turned his attention to his attacker. Runs Fast no
ticed that the Big One’s face became red as it showed its teeth and roared. Backing up to stay out of reach, he loaded his spear thrower. He doubted he could throw his spear hard enough to get through the strange not-fur, so he aimed higher and launched with all his strength. The spear caught the Koo-wen on the strange shiny thing around its neck. Though the spear bounced off harmlessly, it jarred a piece of the shiny thing off. Runs Fast was horrified at what happened next.

  The Koo-wen grabbed at his neck with a look of terror even the Fuzzy could understand, then the shiny thing made a bright flash of light and a sound like thunder when a storm is overhead.

  Runs Fast leaped back as blood and bone and brains sprayed all about. The Big One, now minus a head and hands, fell to the ground and thrashed silently for a moment, then became still. By that time Watches Clouds had returned with several other Jin-f ’ke. There was a long discussion about what to do with the body. Red Fur arrived shortly after and made a calculated decision.

  * * * * * * * * *

  From the air-yacht, Victor Grego and Gerd van Riebeek watched as the barge slowly rose into the air taking the artifact with it. With all the attention the rocket was getting from the general public, it was time to relocate the artifact to a more secure location. For extra security, Commodore Napier loaned the colonial government a squadron of Terran Federation Naval air craft, each loaded with heavily armed and armored Marines. In addition, a contingent of Charterless Zarathustra Company security personnel under the command of Major Lansky surrounded the rocket on the barge itself. Victor Grego was taking no chances with the artifact, although he’d had to smooth a few ruffled feathers among the Marines.