Getting up from his seat on the bench, he stepped forward into the crowd and worked his way to the front. From behind another man followed him from another bench. The second man tried to work his way through the crowd to keep up with Thaxter, but his progress was somewhat slower.
At the top of the steps Ivan Dane spread both arms wide and yelled out, “My friends! We are a mere five hundred signatures away from our goal! Soon, the illegal and corrupt government that runs this world will be brought down. The Yellowstand agreement can then be broken and free land will be available to all.”
* * * * * * * * *
Piet Dumont was disgusted. Free land was a myth; one way or another you paid for it. This mob clearly lacked the mental wherewithal to realize that with the Yellowsand agreement gone, taxation would have to be implemented. Taxes on food, goods, personal income and, yes, on the land itself. That wasn’t ‘free’ by any stretch.
Piet was about to give up on his surveillance and get to work when he noticed a man with dark glasses and hat working his way into the crowd. Almost on the first man’s heels came a second that looked very familiar though too far away to be sure. Something was off kilter. Piet couldn’t pin it down but his gut said to stick around. A good cop always went with his gut.
Piet stood up and moved forward to the crowd. He wanted a better look at the two men. To be safe, he called in for back-up to set in at a discrete distance from the gathering; close enough to get in quick, far enough away to stay out of sight.
* * * * * * * * *
Six Fuzzies stepped out from behind trees and bushes. Each held his bow at the ready. Jack made a small gesture with his hand and Terrence stepped forward, chopper-digger held high above him. He laid it down on the ground before him, then stood up straight and placed his right foot on top of it. Jack, also carrying a chopper-digger, did the same.
The Fuzzies looked confused as they lowered their weapons. Jack wasn’t sure if it was because a Big One acted like a Fuzzy, there was a giant Fuzzy with the Big One, or if these northern Fuzzies had a different way of showing they wanted to make friends. Jack hoped like hell it wasn’t that last possibility.
The Fuzzies spoke amongst themselves for a moment, then one of them scampered off. Jack assumed it was to get the Fuzzy equivalent of the guard captain. The remaining Fuzzies kept a wary eye on Jack and Terrence while they waited. They were especially interested in Terrence, though whether they could tell he was wearing a costume or not remained a mystery.
“They seem impressed with you, Terrence,” Jack said in a low voice.
“I’m pretty damned impressed with them, too, Jack,” Terrence said nervously.
Jack could tell that Terrence was almost scared witless. Still, he didn’t quake or sweat nor did he look as if he were about to turn and run. Jack respected that.
A group, or rather a furry of Fuzzies joined the other five and appraised Jack and Terrence. One, possibly the leader, with dark red fur stepped forward and said something in his ultrasonic voice. Neither of the two men understood what he said though Terrence had equipped his costume with an ultrasonic hearing aid. Jack muttered profanities under his breath, cursing himself for a fool in not bringing his own hearing aid.
“Did you get any of that?” Jack asked Terrence.
“I heard the words, but couldn’t understand them. These guys have a much different language. Still sounds like old Terran Japanese, though.” Terrence said something back in Fuzzy. The Fuzzies didn’t seem to understand. “Nope, they don’t understand our brand of Fuzzy, either.”
One of the Fuzzies, the presumed leader, stepped forward and spoke in the human audible range. “Who you?”
“Hey, he speaks Terra Lingua!” Terrence exclaimed.
“I am Jack Holloway. This is Ter—, uh…” Damn, I should have thought up a Fuzzy type name for him. “Terrific Hunter.”
The Fuzzy speaker nodded in an oddly human fashion. “I Red Fur. He not Jin-f’ke. He big-big, like you. Why you come here?”
“I want to make peace with Fu—, with Jin-f’ke. Stop the killing.”
“Peace!” Red Fur shouted. “Big Ones kill Sun Fur. Make big hole in ground with big-big noise. Attack Jin-f’ke at moving water place… river! At river. Big Ones bad!”
One of the many things Jack liked about Fuzzies was the fact that they always went straight to the point. Big Ones would do well to follow their example.
“Big Ones have laws to deal with bad Big Ones.” Damn, that won’t make sense to a Fuzzy. “We make dead Big Ones that hurt Fu—, Jin f’ke.”
“No. Jin-f ke made dead Big Ones who hurt Jin-f’ke!” Red Fur yelled.
So, they were provoked and now they were fighting back. Jack reviewed the situation and came up with the only course of action he could think of that didn’t involve gassing or killing more Fuzzies. “Very well. Red Fur, I, leader of the Big Ones, surrender.”
* * * * * * * * *
Thaxter finally made his way to a point at which he could take aim and shoot. After a moment’s deliberation, he decided to take out Murdock first, Whitey if he reached for a gun, then Ivan Dane. The idea was to remove those who would present the greatest danger first. That was definitely Brandon Murdock. Thaxter had plenty of opportunity to study the man after he was sprung from Prison House; the way he moved and carried himself made it clear he was accustomed to handling difficult situations. Soldiers and cops often had that same air about them.
Thaxter quickly raised his pistol and put two slugs into Murdock; one in the chest and one in the throat. Even a fibroid weave vest wouldn’t stop the .45 round and the bullet in the throat, a lucky shot, clinched the deal. Whitey ducked behind a signboard while Ivan Dane stood too stunned to move.
As expected, the crowd was running in every direction to avoid being caught in the gunfire. In Federation history there is a certain progression that would almost seem to be a law of nature in gun ownership. When worlds are first colonized, it is expected that everybody carry a pistol or rifle of some sort to defend against the inimical wildlife and even more dangerous sapient denizens if there are any. As the world becomes tamed and civilized, the use and ownership of guns slowly becomes controlled, especially within the limits of large population centers. As the population increases, the need for protection against wildlife typically decreases. Laws are then passed restricting the use of firearms until finally only the military, constabulary and select individuals with special permits can carry guns.
As such, one of the allures of a new colony world was the freedom to carry sidearms. Unfortunately, this did not always come with proper instruction in their use, or sufficient experience to use them wisely. While gun ownership was a given on colony planets, firearms familiarity and training were far less common. As a result, when Leo Thaxter fired at Brandon Murdock, the crowd, instead of drawing their own weapons and shooting back, simply ran for cover.
That suited Thaxter just fine. He changed targets to Dane and pulled the trigger. As he did so, a bullet caught him in the shoulder, skewing his aim. He looked back and saw Piet Dumont holding his service pistol. Thaxter spun and ducked simultaneously and got off a shot at Piet, catching the inspector in the center of mass. The last thing he wanted to do was kill a cop; that was a guaranteed bullet in the head if caught. Cops usually wore bulletproof vests but a .45 could still get through. Even if the round failed to penetrate, the impact could break ribs and cause severe internal bleeding.
Thaxter watched in mild horror as Piet flew backwards and hit the ground. Now I’ve done it. I’m a dead man who just needs to put on a good suit and lie down. Thaxter decided he was going to take some more company with him and retargeted on Ivan Dane, who lay wounded at the top of the steps.
Before Thaxter pulled the trigger, three bullets ripped through his body from behind, spinning him around and knocking him down. He didn’t need a doctor to know the hits were fatal; he could feel himself slipping away. The last thing he saw before the blackness took him was his own face staring do
wn at him.
Clancy Slade took a moment to check Thaxter’s body for a pulse and collect the dead man’s gun before rushing over to help Piet. By this time a police squad car floated down to street level and spewed out four cops with sidearms drawn. Clancy, knowing how it looked with him kneeling over Piet with a face that was indistinguishable from Leo Thaxter’s quickly set his and Thaxter’s guns down and put his hands behind his head. He most definitely did not want to become the victim of mistaken identity.
Two policemen rushed over and covered Clancy and Piet while the other two checked on the dead and wounded. Officer Chang collected the dropped pistols and cuffed Clancy. Clancy didn’t protest. It would take a DNA test or a fingerprint to prove who was who and he wasn’t going to waste his breath in the meantime.
Piet, alive and conscious, though seriously wounded, was stripped of his shirt and protective vest and subjected to a field dressing to keep him from bleeding out before the ambulance could arrive. Before he passed out, he nodded weakly at Clancy.
“Good job, big guy.”
XXVI
“That’s right, Miss O’Barre,” Ben Rainsford said through the viewscreen. “Jack surrendered and was taken prisoner by the Fuzzies. He made it clear that he didn’t want any interference while he tried to negotiate a peaceful settlement, so we’re not charging in with guns blazing.”
“You wouldn’t really do that, would you?” Like most humans, Akira had fallen in love with Fuzzies in general. The idea of them being mowed down in a military assault disturbed her almost as much as the idea of Jack being hurt by the Fuzzies. “Couldn’t you just gas them?”
“As it turns out, no. Gus reminded me that Jack is still on the accommodation meds. I checked with a doctor and found out that there could be a fatal interaction if he is exposed to anesthezine gas.” Rainsford leaned forward closer to the screen. “Is Morgan back from Zeta, yet?”
“He should be here any minute, Governor. I’ll give him the news. It will be better coming from me, I think.”
“Are you sure? I think this is really my job….”
“Yes, Governor. Morgan will be less likely to do something rash if I handle it.”
Rainsford didn’t look happy about it, but agreed. “Call me if you or Morgan need anything. I’ll be speaking with Commodore Napier about possible tactics, so I might be out of touch for a while. I’ll get back to you as fast as I can if you need me.”
“Thank you, Governor. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Akira broke the connection and stared at the dark screen for several seconds before turning the screen back on. She punched in the code for Betty Kanazawa.
Little Fuzzy, Baby Fuzzy, Mama Fuzzy, Mike, Mitzy, Ko-ko and Cinderella wandered into the cabin for an extee-three snack and overheard Akira talking with Betty on the screen. The two women were definitely upset.
“But Jack could be killed in a firefight with those wild Fuzzies,” wailed Betty from the screen.
“I doubt it will come to that, Betty. Those Fuzzies let Terrence go, after all.”
“Sure, to tell the Big Ones not to mess with them or else.”
Little Fuzzy listened quietly until he had a full picture, then shooed the rest back out of the cabin. Once outside, Little Fuzzy did some fast thinking. Pappy Jack was in trouble. Fuzzies had taken him prisoner. This was a strange concept to him as Fuzzies typically wanted to make friends, not pick fights. However, Big Ones could be as different as night and day from each other. Maybe his own people could be that way, too.
“Hokay, we need to go help Pappy Jack from bad Fuzzies,” Little Fuzzy declared.
“How we make do?” Ko-ko asked. “Big boom place far-far.”
That was true. It had taken almost a week for Little Fuzzy, Allan Quatermain, Natty Bumppo and a few others to ride up to the place where they had heard the explosion. Pappy Jack could be dead by then. And once they got there, what could less than two hands of Fuzzies do? There were supposed to be as many Fuzzies there as leaves on a featherleaf tree. They needed transportation and what the Big Ones called an army.
“Mike, Mitzy, Ko-ko, Cinderella, Mama Fuzzy and Baby Fuzzy, make run fast and get all Fuzzies and their dogs,” Little Fuzzy ordered. “We make army for Pappy Jack.”
“How we get to big boom place?” Cinderella asked.
“Heyo! What are you kids up to?”
The Fuzzies turned and saw John Morgan Holloway the Lesser walking towards them.
“Unka Morgan will know what to do,” Little Fuzzy said. “Unka Morgan, we make talk fast!”
* * * * * * * * *
After Jack had surrendered, he was taken into custody and escorted to the Fuzzy equivalent of a holding center. It was little more than a small depression in the ground surrounded by needle vine bushes. While the bushes only rose to a height of four feet, the sharp needlelike thorns that covered the vine like branches were incredibly sharp and painful to remove. Jack noticed that there was some sort of discoloration on many of the thorns and suspected that they may have been treated with the same toxin used on the spear and arrow heads. To top it off Fuzzy guards with toxin-treated chopper-diggers blocked the exit. Jack was pretty impressed with the accommodations. He was even more impressed to find that he had a human cellmate.
“Hello,” Jack said, offering his hand. “I am Jack Holloway, Native Affairs Commissioner.”
The man accepted the hand, then introduced himself. “Joseph Aaron Quigley, the cause of all this mess.”
“The cause?” Joe had Jack’s undivided attention.
“Yes, Commissioner,” Joe said. “Not intentionally, of course.”
Joe explained about the illegal mining operation he had put together a few months earlier and the massive sunstone deposit he and his crew had discovered. Nothing was held back. Joe spoke of Sun Fur’s accidental death, the discovery of the rocket, the skeletal remains that may or may not have been the pilots, the explosion and his resultant imprisonment. “I’ve been living on raw fruits and vegetables and stale extee-three for the last two months.”
“Nifflheim! I’m almost tempted to believe you’ve suffered enough. Still, you’ll have to be tried on manslaughter charges when we get back. I’m sure the courts will take your remorse and hardships into consideration. Stale extee-three….”
“Believe it or not, the damned stuff tastes better stale, which is just a slightly improved version of horrible.” Joe chuckled at his own joke.
Jack didn’t join in.
“Look, Commissioner, I will freely admit to all of my crimes under veridication if you get me out of here in one piece and maybe let me have a damned pizza and a tall cool beer.”
Despite himself, Jack found himself sympathizing with Joe. “I think I can arrange that.”
Joe looked Jack in the eyes. “I’ve heard about you. People who mess with the Fuzzies either end up dead or in jail.”
Jack nodded. “If I catch them and they don’t put up a fight, then it’s up to the courts. If they do put up a fight, well, then it’s up to me, I guess. There’s an execution scheduled for this Saturday for a Fuzzy slavery ring. I didn’t kill any of them though my son did. One tried to hack me up from behind.” Jack looked Joe over. He was dirty, unshaven, thin and generally miserable looking. “Play ball and you might get five to ten in Prison House.”
Joe snorted. “Ball, badminton, hockey, tidily-winks, you name the game and I’ll play. Just get me away from these damned Fuzzies in one piece.”
* * * * * * * * *
Thor Folkvar was accustomed to the eccentricities of his employer. As a rule the eccentricities took a benign turn: buying up substantial interests in companies, helping genetically engineered Freyans find a home; that sort of thing. Other times they were less benign, like challenging his father to a duel and damn near killing him and then whip-cracking the surgeons and doctors to patch the old man up.
Thor thought Morgan would settle down and be a bit less…off… after he set his sights on Akira O’Barre. Of course, the wom
an was a bit skinny by Magnian standards. He doubted she could even lift her own weight in the gym; still, she was attractive as far as frail off-Magni women went. Unfortunately, she wasn’t keeping Morgan’s eccentric nature in check.
The Magnian was on the bridge chatting with Captain Zeudin when the order came up to bring the yacht down to Beta Continent. That, in and of itself, was not particularly strange. Collecting three hundred Fuzzies with their dog mounts was. Moreover, the Fuzzies were armed to the teeth with bows, crossbows, scaled down .22s that looked like ancient military rifles and something that the hirsute natives called a shoppo-diggo. It took a lot to make Thor nervous. These Fuzzies made the grade.
Morgan followed the Fuzzies in along with his paramour barking orders to get the Fuzzies situated and head for the northern region of Beta Continent yesterday. The crew jumped to it escorting packs of Fuzzies with their dogs—they refused to be separated—to the various cargo bays. The animals and cryonic units from Freya and Magni had already been dropped off on Zeta Continent, or the Fuzzies would not have all fit on the yacht.
Thor carefully worked his way through the herd of Fuzzies and Curtys to Morgan and Akira. “What’s the deal, boss?”
“Jack’s been taken prisoner by hostile Fuzzies up north. We’re going to get him back.”
“With an army of Fuzzies?” Thor thought about it and realized it made sense. A demonstration of a superior force would go a long way to making Jack’s captors open to negotiation. Fuzzies coming to the rescue would send the message that Jack was a friend to Fuzzy-kind. All in all, it was a good idea, provided nothing got in the way.
“It is Fuzzy land,” Morgan pointed out. “According to Federation law, Fuzzies make the rules and enforce them if they want. Technically, humans are not supposed to interfere without their tribal consent.”
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