Caveat Fuzzy

by Wolfgang Diehr

  Thaxter paid his two bits and jumped on the first railcar headed for Junktown. Maybe he’d dropped his tail and maybe he hadn’t. A little extra travel time and a few more quarter-sols to jump back and forth around the city was worth the peace of mind.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Clancy Slade had just finished his shift and was anxious to get home. He had stayed after his shift to get the weekly pep-talk from Major Lansky. It was the usual review for new hires on probation. It was a good review. Lansky didn’t even say anything about his punching a co-worker the week before. Apparently he accepted the philosophy that some issues among the men were best settled by themselves.

  Clancy paid his two bits and hopped on the railcar headed to Junktown. In another month he would be able to afford the down payment on a cabin outside of the city. He wanted to use his earnings from his job rather than dip into the twenty-five thousand sols he had stashed. Failing to keep a financial cushion was one of the reasons he had to leave Gimli in search of work on a new planet; he hadn’t had the resources to hold out until the Chartered Gimli Company started hiring back the laid-off workers.

  Clancy took his usual seat and opened his newspaper. One thing he liked about living on a young colony planet was printed news. He didn’t like carrying a comp-tablet and scrolling through the feeds to find what he was looking for. Better to have the real thing in tangible form.

  Clancy was flipping to the sports page when something caught his eye: a man two seats up across the aisle wearing a hat and dark glasses. It took a moment for it to click, but the man had a red beard just like his own and was roughly the same build, but it was his ears that caught Clancy’s attention. Two months earlier he was forced to undergo mild cosmetic surgery to make his own ears look just like that. It was still a sensitive matter to Clancy and he had vowed to have the work reversed when he had the time.

  Mixed emotions of fear and anger warred in Clancy’s head. Only one man could own those ears. The hat and shades made for a thin disguise though the beard helped. It was Thaxter. It had to be. Clancy kept his paper up with one hand as he pulled out his own sunglasses and put them on. He had his own hat on and had left his uniform at work where it would be cleaned by the company launderer. He still carried his pistol, though. After the scare he and his family got when the police came to his house he decided to be ready in case somebody less friendly came by. Even his wife agreed.

  Okay, he thought, maybe it was Thaxter and maybe it was somebody with the same ears. Clancy decided to follow the man until he was sure one way or the other.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Piet Dumont hated to admit it but in his heart he was a beat cop. He was a good one, which was how he rose to his previous position of Police Chief. Unfortunately, once he was trapped behind a desk he felt lost and foundered even though he still managed to get out into the field now and then. His new promotion to inspector reaffirmed his sense of self-worth, yet he started to feel trapped by it. Inspectors got out to investigate a crime after it had happened. Beat cops were in a position to stop a crime in progress or prevent it altogether.

  To keep himself from falling into the same trap he had when he was Police Chief, Piet decided to walk to work and be on the lookout for anything amiss on the way. Local shop owners and vendors recognized him and occasionally gave him tips on what was what in the neighborhood. Depending on the tip, he would either call for a squad car or just handle it himself.

  Shoplifting, while rare, still happened. Usually by kids too young or too stupid to realize that store security cameras watched their every move. Piet had rattled the cages of a couple of youths the day before. After scaring them with blood-chilling tales of life in Prison House, most of them exaggerated, he sent them home with a stern warning.

  On this particular morning Piet’s route took him by the B.I.N. building. He hated the B.I.N. news. It tended to go for sensationalism rather than facts. Any cop worth his badge wanted facts, not rumor and innuendo. There was a crowd of people with electronic clipboards harassing pedestrians for signatures to get the governor recalled. Piet made a mental note to track down the names on the petition should the recall initiative pass; he suspected more than a few may have come from the local cemetery. Old Chicago politics still cropped up now and then, especially on colony planets where the government was new and inexperienced with that kind of thing.

  Piet shook his head as one petitioner approached him. She took the hint and backed off in search of other prey. Piet started to move on when he spotted what was known in his line of work as a suspicious character. The man was big and burly-looking, which was far from uncommon on a colony world, but there was something about him that screamed ‘thug.’ His hat was pulled down and he wore Agni-specs, sunglasses designed to protect the wearer from the harsh glare of the Agni sun, which were overkill on Zarathustra with its K0 class star.

  Piet extracted his mini-comp tablet and acted like he was studying something on it as he angled it up enough to capture the man on the digi-cam. Once he secured the image, Piet accessed the police computer through the ether. The immigration photo of one Brandon Murdock, taken two months earlier, came up on the screen. He was currently listed as the head of security for B.I.N.

  “Yeah, right,” Piet said to himself. He suspected a more thorough search would dredge up a criminal record of some kind. Still, even excons could get legitimate work once they served their time.

  Piet was about to move on when another man came over to talk to Murdock. This time there was no need to check police records as Piet recognized him; Whitey Harkins, low-level muscle formerly in the employ of one Raul Laporte. Now this was interesting. Piet decided to take a seat on a bench and watch things for a while. He called in that he would be late and bought a newspaper. Checking the paper only to make certain it was right-side up; Piet then ignored the print and peered over the top to watch Murdock and Whitey. Making sure to flip a page now and then, Piet continued his surveillance. If something should break, he had his mini-comp ready to send a distress signal to the police.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Chief Carr fumed as the lab techs went over the squad car. Two prisoners were lost on his watch and he couldn’t even blame the officers doing the transfer. Or rather, he could, but he didn’t run things that way. No scapegoats in his jurisdiction. Just the real Khooghras responsible. He already put a team at the Mallorysport-Darius Spaceport with portable veridicators to screen everybody buying an off-world ticket.

  What had happened was as unique as it was obvious. The killer managed to break into the police band and send a cancellation order to the damper field that was keeping the explosive collars dormant. Gilbert caught on almost instantly and tried to sever the connection. Good thinking, just too late to help the late Anthony Anderson and Duncan Rippolone.

  “I’m sorry, Chief,” Damon Lords said, one of the lab techs. “There’s no way to trace the signal. According to the onboard computer, it was a wide-spectrum dispersal.”

  “Wide spectrum…so it was a single unit that would have affected radio signals across all the frequencies?”

  “Yes, sir. I would guess that it would have covered a radius of about three hundred meters, affecting every radio in that range. No matter what frequency you were on, it would have been hit.”

  “Thank you, Damon. That is very useful.” Carr turned away from the tech and grabbed his belt radio. “Dispatch? I want a canvass of the area around the site of the explosion for six hundred meters in every direction. Send every available man we have. We are looking for every radio subjected to interference this morning at 0942. Make a grid map of the results. Yesterday!”

  Maybe the hitman wasn’t as slick as he thought he was.

  XXVI

  As soon as he had his supplies and props loaded, Jack hustled Terrence into the aircar and took off for Northern Beta. He wanted to get away before Gerd knew what he was up to. It also meant dodging Morgan. The Blood Oath between Morgan and Little Fuzzy would require keeping Jack out
of trouble. Heading into a hostile territory, even though the hostiles were Fuzzies, simply would not have been allowed.

  Well, hell, thought Jack, I didn’t agree to any of it and I’ll be damned if I’ll let it interfere with my job.

  Jack didn’t want to admit it, but he was still a little shaky if he was too long out of his hover-chair and hated to leave it behind. All the running he did the day before hadn’t done his body any favors, either. He took along his medications; Jack was too old to delude himself into thinking he didn’t need them and planned on getting a lot older. He also left instructions to tell Morgan and Little Fuzzy what he was up to one hour after he was gone. By the time either of them got the message, it would be too late to interfere. Jack didn’t believe in lying to people, though delaying the truth was occasionally necessary.

  It took just under a Z-hour to get to the dig site. There he met with Ismet Runako, whom he had spoken with via viewscreen earlier.

  “You’re going to what?”

  Jack expected this reaction. “I am going to go down there with Terrence Vlo…Voloso…”

  “Vlosopolos,” Terrence provided.

  “…Right, Terrence,” Jack said. “The two of us will attempt to get a dialogue going with the Fuzzies. Maybe we can avoid more bloodshed and work out a peaceful arrangement with the locals.”

  Ismet was dubious. “Couldn’t we just gas the lot of them then deal from a position of strength?”

  “I see you’ve been to Yggdrasil,” Jack said. “These aren’t Khooghras, Ismet. Fuzzies can’t be won over by force. They can be very accommodating, but they also have a serious vindictive streak if you give them cause. No matter what happens with me, no hostile action will be authorized. Understand?”

  “Yes, Commissioner, I do,” Ismet said, nodding. “I also understand that the Governor can overrule you on this if he has to. If anything happens to you, I will call my boss, who will call his boss, who in turn will contact Mr. Grego. He, I am quite certain, will call the Governor.”

  I must be getting old, it used to be I could intimidate the hell out of people and get my way in situations like this. “Okay, fair enough, though I suspect Mr. Grego would take your call direct in this instance. Tell you what; as long as I am alive, assume I have the situation under control. I’ll keep an open com-link and if things go to Nifflheim I’ll authorize the use of sleep gas. No sono-stunners! Clear?”

  “Great Ghu! After that slaughter the last time we used them, you don’t have to tell me.” Ismet jerked a thumb at Terrence. “What about Mr. Vlosopolos, here?”

  Am I the only person on Zarathustra who can’t pronounce his name? “He comes with me until after we make peaceful contact. If the damnthing droppings hit the wind generator: Do what you must to get him out alive. Clear?”

  “Clear. I must insist that you both be inoculated against the poison they are using on their spears and arrows. The dose is good for twelve hours, then you can take boosters in capsule form. That is the best we can do on such short notice.”

  “I’m all for it,” Jack agreed. Then he recalled his accommodation medicines. “Is there a drug interaction problem?”

  “Oh, Nifflheim. We don’t know,” Ismet admitted. “It hasn’t been that thoroughly tested yet.”

  Jack suspected that would be the case. “Then give me a selfinjection ampoule and I’ll use it when and if I have to. Terrence, will you be good?”

  Terrence waved it off. “I’ll be fine. No medical problems, here.”

  Terrence quickly shed his clothing, received his injection, strapped on the lightweight body armor, rated for small arms below .30 caliber, then struggled into his Fuzzy costume. Ismet looked it over appraisingly.

  “You know, that outfit on a full-grown man seems vaguely familiar. I think I saw an old movie with a character that looked a lot like that. Space Wars or something….”

  “You all set, Terrence?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, Commissioner. Just one more magna-seam…there.”

  “Call me, Jack. Okay, let’s do this.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  It took almost an hour of switching rails and shooting back and forth across the city before Leo Thaxter was confident he hadn’t been followed by the police. He thought he saw another man in dark glasses making the same switches he did, but he didn’t get a good look and he stopped seeing the shades two exchanges earlier.

  Thaxter stepped off the railcar at the stop closest to the B.I.N. building. From there he took a moving sidewalk to the corner of the block where he could get a good look at the entrance. There was a crowd of people with electronic clipboards accosting people for signatures as they walked by. At the top of the entryway stood Brandon Murdock in a lame attempt at a disguise with what looked like Whitey from Laporte’s old crew. They just stood there watching the crowd. What was that about?

  Thaxter debated just shooting Murdock and running, but he really wanted that shot at Ivan Dane. It was Dane running the show and he was the one who jammed the needle into Bowlby’s arm. Instead of shooting, Thaxter took a seat on one of the benches across from the building. If Murdock was just standing outside, he was there for a reason. Thaxter decided to wait and see what it was.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Clancy managed to keep up with Thaxter though he knew he had been spotted. Hoping to stay on the trail without being detected, Clancy depolarized the lenses of his glasses to minimum opacity. Sometimes less was more. Next he gave a fiver to a man for his hat which was a different style and color from his own.

  It worked. When Thaxter looked around for anybody following him, he didn’t give Clancy a second glance. When Thaxter stepped out of the rail car and onto the moving sidewalk, Clancy followed at a discrete distance.

  Clancy watched as Thaxter took in the scene at the B.I.N. building and found a seat on the bench. A woman approached Clancy for a signature and was rudely rebuffed. He was tired, anxious and in no mood to be bothered. He wanted to go home and get some sleep. Instead, he took a seat on another bench. He had gotten a close enough look at the man to know for certain it was Thaxter and wasn’t about to let him out of his sight.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Terrence Vlosopolos did his best to act calm and relaxed as he followed Jack Holloway to the ridge, or at least as calm and relaxed as a man could be in a giant Fuzzy suit walking into a potentially hazardous situation.

  “Relax, Terrence,” Jack said. “In all the time I have studied Fuzzies on and off the res I never heard of one Fuzzy killing another.”

  “Fuzzies never killed a Big One before, either,” pointed out Terrence, “Yet here we are because that very thing happened. Several times over.”

  “I believe these Fuzzies were provoked.” Jack looked up at the ridge, then down at the ground and followed the tracks, fresh Fuzzy and days-old human, to the path leading up. Ismet had said it would be easy to find, even without the tracks. “Remember what to do if you see any Fuzzies?”

  “Try hard not to scream like a little girl and faint?” Terrence chuckled. The laugh was forced. He was scared and trying not to show it. “No, wait…I stop, raise my chopper-digger with both hands, then set it on the ground and place a foot on it.”

  “Right,” Jack said, nodding. “Save the screaming and fainting for later.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Jack knew gallows humor when he heard it. Terrence believed chances were good he wouldn’t live to see the end of the day. Jack didn’t try to give him a pep talk. Most people wouldn’t take the situation seriously. After all, everybody knew that Fuzzies were just cute furry little children, right? Better to have somebody along who knew how dangerous the situation was. Hopefully, Terrence would have a good story to tell his grandchildren about. If he survived. So no pep talk, but a few positive facts couldn’t hurt.

  “Remember, that armor under your fur is rated for .30 cal and below.”

  “Jack, I watched a demonstration once where an arrow went through light armor like it was made o
f cheese,” said Terrence. “I realize that Fuzzies can’t pull a two-hundred pound bow…hell, I can’t either… but still….”

  “I’ll bet that the arrow in the demonstration was steel tipped,” Jack countered. “I don’t think this crowd is up to mining and smelting iron ore, then smithing it into arrow heads.”

  “A furry.”

  Jack was confused. “A furry what?”

  “Not crowd of Fuzzies,” Terrence said. “A furry of Fuzzies. You know; a murder of ravens, a gam of whales, a congress of demons…”

  “I thought a group of demons would be a bar association,” Jack quipped. It was obvious to him that Terrence was trying to keep his cool. That was smart. Jack was a little nervous himself entering a dangerous situation with somebody he barely knew and had no idea what he was capable of. “Did you just make that up? The furry thing?”

  “Yup. I’m trying to keep my mind active to distract me from how scared I am. I don’t have any armor on my head, you know.”

  “Terrence, if you weren’t a little scared, I would be worried. Don’t let it get to you. I have a mug back at the cabin with a line from some old 2-D western that says ‘courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.’ Hell, I’m a little scared. All I have is the fibroid weave vest under my shirt and a lot of faith. I’m counting on these Fuzzies being as reasonable as my own gang. I do like that ‘furry of Fuzzies’ idea, though. I think it will catch on.”

  “I hope we’re around to find out.”

  Jack stopped dead in his tracks when an arrow sprouted from the ground before him. He cursed under his breath then said to Terrence, “Get your game face on. It’s show time.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  Thaxter’s patience was finally rewarded. A camera crew came out of the building and set up a perimeter around the crowd at the entranceway. Moments later, Ivan Dane stepped out of the front entranceway and waved at the crowd. A number of people who had signed the petition had waited around and the crowd had steadily grown. That suited Thaxter just fine; it would be harder to fire at Dane and Murdock but easier to slip away afterwards as the crowd panicked and ran in every direction. He was less thrilled about the cameras. Still, as long as he kept his back to them, they wouldn’t catch his face.